The Raw End of the Deal
by Lakritzwolf
Summary: The courier wants to build a better world, not even an enemy is turned out; when a wounded, amnesic legionary staggers into Freeside the courier protects him from being lynched. When he remembers, his loyalties and world view have been severely altered...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I started writing this with no real idea where this was going, and then I found a prompt on the Kink Meme that fitted my ideas strangely well. I took it from there, and this is what came out of it.

Summary: Postgame, Independent Vegas Ending. The courier wants to build a new and better world and tries to get all factions together to work together. Not even a former enemy is turned out by her; when a severely wounded and amnesic legionary staggers into Freeside the Followers nurse him and the courier protects him from being lynched. By the time he remembers, his loyalties and world view have been severely altered...

* * *

**Freeside, October 21, 2281**

_Medical Logbook, Dr Julie Farkas_

_October 21, 2281_

_Three days after the battle of Hoover Dam, the stream of casualties is finally ebbing off. Luckily, most of the injuries we had to treat were minor; lacerations, bruises, some bullet wounds and occasional burns. Some cases were worse and required special treatment, but we only had to undertake three amputations and only lost a dozen lives in all. Considering the size of the battle it is rather surprising, but I spoke to the courier who told me she had no interest in unnecessary bloodshed. I don't know how she made the NCR withdraw without more violence, but I won't question our luck. Most of the wounded are NCR soldiers, but there are two civilians as well who against all common sense were trying to scavenge spoils of war at the edge of the battle. _

_Status report:_

_Rowling, Pete (Civ): Lost right hand despite all efforts to save it. Facial burns are healing up, and against all expectations he has regained some of his eyesight.  
Meagers, Jim (Civ): Only shallow bullet grazes, stitches are healing up. With no signs of infection, he can be discharged tomorrow or the day after.  
Johnson, Robert (NCR): Still shell-shocked. Took the loss of his left arm badly. Dr Richards is trying to set up trauma therapy for him.  
Myers, Allan (NCR): Still comatose. Expect him to be brain-damaged after he wakes up, if he wakes up, which seems unlikely at the moment. We're fighting infection unsuccessfully.  
Smith, Reginald (NCR): Conscious for five minutes this morning for the first time after the battle. A good sign, because he-_

"Julie?"  
"What?"  
"Sorry to disturb you." Arcade looked profoundly uneasy, even given the fact that the last three days had been hell for all of them. "But we just got someone in."

Closing her notebook Julie got up, stretched her aching back and followed Arcade into the fort where two Kings hovered uneasily beside a wounded man on a makeshift stretcher.

"What is this?"  
Arcade shrugged. "They brought him in."  
Julie came to halt beside the Kings and their burden. The two Kings exchanged an uneasy glance and one of them spoke.  
"Dr Farkas, this guy came more crawling than stumbling up to the gate. I think he's Legion, but we don't know. But we figured that you'd help him anyway."  
"Damn right we will", Julie replied and knelt down beside the man whom someone had covered with a blanket. When she lifted the blanket, however, she saw the reason for the Kings' uneasiness and Arcade's worry. She hastily dropped the blanket again, despite all her years of being a doctor in the roughest conditions, the sight before her made her stomach turn.

Arcade knelt down beside the unconscious man and looked up at Julie. "Think he has a chance?"

Julie could only shrug. "He might, if he made it this far. I think you're right, and these rags he's wearing could be the remains of a Legion uniform." And to the Kings she went on: "Thanks for bringing him in. I'd be grateful if you could carry him into that tent over there."

After moving the mercifully unconscious man onto a bed, Julie and Arcade exchanged a long, worried look.

"Who did this?", Arcade finally asked, his voice slightly shaking. "Who could do this to a human being?"  
"Not even the Legion tortures their victims that way", Julie replied, equally shaken. "I mean they torture them, but they nail them to a cross and let nature do the rest. They don't..." She broke off with a choked sob and stared up at her friend. "I'm not sure if we're doing him a favour if we try to save his life."  
Arcade rolled his shoulders with a tight-lipped face. "I'd agree. But can we just let him die?"

The two doctors looked at one another and realised that they couldn't do that. The Hippocratic Oath might be something ancient and archaic, but its meaning had remained the same over the centuries, ingrained into the minds of the doctors who had spoken it.

During the last three days Arcade had seen a lot of gore, hideous injuries and blood; had set broken bones, amputated shattered limbs and sewn torn and cut flesh back together. He hadn't been much of a doctor, he had told the courier that as well, but the last couple of days had been a baptism of fire for him. But as he took a pair of scissors out of the pocket of his coat to cut away the last remnants of what might have been a legionary outfit he realised that he had seen nothing yet. How any human being could to things like this to another human was completely beyond him. His hands were trembling when he dropped the bloodied rags beside him

Julie came back with a bag full of surgical instruments and meds and they looked at each other again with pale faces before taking up the grisly task of trying to save a man's life who, most likely, would not want to be saved.


	2. Chapter 2

** Freeside, October 22, 2281 **

_Medical Logbook, Dr Julie Farkas, subsequent entry_

_The severely injured Legionary we got in last night is miraculously still alive. I hesitate to give a full account of all his injuries, but most likely because I shy away from the fact that his wounds are no battle injuries but definitely caused by torture. _

_Unknown (assumed Legion): Multiple burns, bruises (especially around the neck) and lacerations. Burns seem to be inflicted by a heated knife, both nipples have been all but cauterized off. Left arm broken threefold with a compound fracture above the elbow. Seven fingers disjointed. Jaw broken, two molars knocked out. Deep laceration on left half of the face right through the eye socket. Eye was beyond saving. Fracture of the bridge of the nose.  
Patient has been bleeding out of rectum. We assumed rape, testing of tissue samples confirmed suspicion. Scrotum cut open with surgical precision, right testicle missing. Deep laceration down the shaft of the penis resulting in severe blood loss. Attempted reconstructive surgery, questionable if physical functions can be restored.  
Several of the wounds have gone septic, questionable if we can fight the infection, questionable if we will have to amputate the arm and/or the penis. Patient comatose. _

Julie leaned back and rubbed her tired, burning eyes. At one point during the operation she had realised that both she and Arcade were working with the grim determination of the damned. Considering his background and his injuries he would most likely prefer not to be saved, but their conscience didn't allow them to let him die. Yet the same conscience nagged at them for trying to make a man live with the memories of what he had gone through.  
Still, he had made his way to Freeside, and how on earth he had managed that in his state was a mystery to her. But he was now her charge, and she'd be damned if she let a man die in her care simply because he had been on the wrong side of the battle lines.

She heard steps behind her before someone put a steaming cup beside her notebook. A pair of warm and large hands closed around her shoulders, gently kneading the hard and aching muscles. Julie leaned back with a sigh.  
"It's awfully late", Arcade said. "You could have done that log tomorrow."  
"I wanted to have it over with", she replied. "I... I wish I could get it out of my mind."  
"So do I."  
Julie began to relax a little under his touch. "I guess it's worse for you, being a man and all, having to deal with those mutilated genitals."  
Arcade was silent for a while before replying. "I wouldn't be surprised if they gave me the odd bad dream or two."

"Who did this?", Julie asked after another pause. "Who is capable of doing something like this? I've heard of torturing, but even accounts of the Legion never even remotely got close to... this."  
She could feel Arcade shrug. "Maybe he tried to desert."  
With another sigh, Julie got up and looked at her friend. "Deserters are strung up on a cross. And the other thing I've heard is that the Caesar does not tolerate homosexuality or any kind of contact like it between the Legionaries." She swallowed. "From all I've heard, I honestly cannot imagine Legionaries raping the comrades, whatever crime he may have committed."  
"Hm. You're right. The only other thing I could think of is that he tried to flee and ran into some fiends."  
"Come to think of it..." Julie closed her eyes. "They are indeed the only people I could think of that would be capable of this."  
"But why didn't they kill him?"  
"And why did he flee in the direction of Vegas and not east? And I've not heard of fiends being sighted this far north and east either."

They exchanged an unhappy glance, because for some reason, while the fiends might make a satisfying scapegoat, they seemed unlikely to be behind this. Yet the other option this left was one neither Julie nor Arcade dared to even think about.


	3. Chapter 3

** Freeside, October 27, 2281**

Nine days after the battle of Hoover Dam did the courier return to New Vegas with her new and fearsome army but without any prisoners of war. Rumours had it that she had been going after the Legion to wipe out even the last traces she could find, but Julie thought it unlikely that the courier would have killed them all, yet what she had in tow were a lot of scared, timid folks, mostly women, dressed in shabby rags. Those turned out to be Legion slaves, or former slaves.  
When the courier found Julie, the doctor could see how drained and worn out the other woman was after more than a week of war.

"It's good to see you", Tara said after embracing Julie. "I admit I was a little worried about how Freeside would come out of this."  
"I guess we Freesiders are a hardy lot", Julie replied with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She was tired and drained, as well.  
Tara looked past her for a moment, then met her eyes again, looking uncomfortable. "Julie, what is this I hear about you having a prisoner of war here in the fort?"

With a sigh, Julie exchanged a glance with Arcade who only shrugged. "I guess things like that can't be kept a secret", he said and to Tara he went on: "Two of the Kings guarding the northern gate brought this man in who had come crawling more dead than alive towards the city. He was unconscious and badly wounded, and also more than half naked. They figured from the rags he was wearing he might be Legion, but brought him here anyway because the King and his gang know how we tick and respect that." He pushed up his glasses. "I admit I wasn't too happy, but I know my duties. Other people, however, have not been so tolerant. They demand we hand him over so they can kill him. Seems like a lot of people want to take their fear of the Legion out on this one man."  
"The only one they can get their hands on", Tara said with a tight-lipped face. "And completely defenceless, as well. Is he really a Legionary?"  
Arcade shook his head. "I'm not quite sure. He was wearing rags in a very distinctive crimson, but that's the only clue we have. He's still unconscious, but even if he was awake we'd be having a hard time getting information out of him because his jaw's broken in two places."

Tara looked thoughtfully back and forth between the two doctors. "There's something you're not telling me."  
Julie looked at Arcade for assistance. The latter pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed. "He's been tortured", he said. "Badly. Really badly. And raped."  
Tara inhaled in a sharp hiss of breath, but her eyes went cold. "Shit." Shaking her head, she kneaded her fingers for a moment before looking at the two doctors again. "I've seen this before", she said. "On the battlefield. When we gathered the corpses for burial, Yes Man approached me..."  
"Yes Man?" Arcade interrupted her.  
"A robot. Well, rather an AI. He had a considerable part in me taking over New Vegas and winning the dam. He's... well, I could say he's my aide-de-camp. He's the link between me and the securitrons."  
"I see", Arcade replied, though he didn't, completely.

"Any way", Tara went on. "He said that some of the dead Legionaries had injuries that were not caused by gunshots. He sees what the securitrons see, but he has rather highly developed cognitive abilities. So I went and had a look at the corpses he talked about, and I saw what seems rather remarkably like what you have just told me."  
Julie felt a cold shiver creep down her spine. "But that..."  
Tara gave her a dark look. "Yes. Legionaries don't waste time to torture deserters, and they certainly don't rape them. Not that in that chaos anyone could have told friend from foe during the first few minutes. And that can only mean one thing: Some of the NCR troops have been taking their frustration about losing the battle out on helpless, wounded enemies."

Both Julie and Arcade were rendered speechless.

"What I don't understand is why all the others were dead and this man is not only alive but made it, for some reason, all the way to Freeside."  
"I have no clue", Julie said softly. She was still too shocked at hearing what soldiers, men, humans were capable of.  
"I guess he's hardier than the others", Arcade said cautiously. "Maybe an officer. I don't know."

Tara nodded slowly. "I've spent the last few days hunting stragglers", she said after a while. "Chasing stray troops of NCR soldiers westward and Legionaries east. I eradicated the Legion camps and settlements. There was so much bloodshed, I couldn't talk a single Legionary into surrendering. The only ones I could save were their slaves, and I'm still not sure what to do with those. A lot of them have been born into slavery and don't know how to make a living on their own. I hate to ask this of you, Julie, but do you think the Followers can take care of them and teach them how to be self-sufficient?"

Julie and Arcade exchanged another long look.

"We might", Julie said at last. "But we can't feed them all."  
"I'll take care of that", Tara gave back and ran both hands through her hair. "Somehow. We could employ a few of them with taking over the sharecroppers farms. Maybe expand. I'll talk to Crimson Caravans. Maybe they're interested in making a profit, though they might be labelled traitors back home for it. I'll have to deal with that, too..." She broke off and looked around for a chair. Arcade provided her with one and Tara fell down and buried her face in her hands. "I'm afraid", she said simply. "I might have bitten off more than I could chew. So much depends on me alone now..." She straightened up again. "I made a pretty hard and important decision that day when I decided that neither Benny nor Mr House were to have the Platinum chip. Because that left only me to take over Vegas, and most of the Mojave, as well. I'm scared shitless, my friends. I'm scared shitless I'll fail all these people that have become my responsibility."

Arcade cautiously laid a hand onto her shoulder. "I think being aware of the risks is a large part of it", he said in a comforting tone. "But you don't have to do it alone. I mean, there's the King who's been running Freeside for more than a decade now, and there's us. The Followers have some expertise in re-building things from scratch. You have an army to keep the roads and borders save. Hell, we could build a whole republic with what we have."

Tara looked up at him. "Always the optimist."  
"I have to", Arcade gave back. "Otherwise, I'd go mad."  
With a tired chuckle, Tara got up again. "Well, there's no rest for the weary. I think I'll have to talk to the people outside to hear what they have to say about this alleged Legionary. Would you like to have a couple of securitrons around, just in case?"  
"I'd rather not have armed soldiers here", Julie began, but Arcade interrupted her by laying a hand on her arm.  
"I on my part would feel a lot better if we could borrow them, temporarily, of course. At least until the matter about this Legionary is cleared up. I've no mind to wake up one night looking at an angry mob armed with torches and pitchforks."  
Julie stared up at him for a moment before she nodded. "Well and good, then. Thank you, Tara."

With another nod, Tara headed for the gate to deal with a lot of hard and angry feelings that were, presently, directed at the fort. That the people could so quickly forget all the things the Followers had done for them in the past years was as sad as it was worrying, but it was the way of human nature. These people had been afraid of the Legion for months and longer, and they were trying to vent something of that fear. But Tara would be damned if she let that happen; neither the Followers nor the single, wounded man deserved to be torn apart by an angry mob seeking revenge.

Expectedly, a mob had collected during the time she had spent in the fort, albeit not a big one. It was about a dozen people, and they weren't armed, either. They were also cautiously hovering a little ways off while suspiciously eyeing the securitrons flanking the gate.  
With Julie on her left and Arcade on her right Tara approached them.

"What do you want?", she asked.  
The men, for there were no women present, looked back and forth between each other until one of them stepped free of the mob. "True that there's a Legionary in the Fort?"  
"It's true that there's a badly wounded man in the Fort who might be a Legionary", Tara replied levelly. "We haven't been able to confirm that yet as he's still unconscious."  
"Why are you helping him?", the man asked, an audible rage building up with his words. "Murderers, slavers, the lot of them! Why not hang him, or better yet, nail him to one of those damned crosses they're so fond of?"  
Tara considered her answer carefully. "What would that achieve?", she finally asked.

Brought up short, the man took a step back, looked over his shoulder at his fellows who still stared grimly at the two Followers and the courier. "Achieve? Nothing. It would make us sleep better, knowing he's dead." He spat out and crossed his arms.  
"Are you so afraid of one single, wounded man?", Tara asked, and the man dropped his arms again, his face growing pale.  
"What?"  
"Listen", Tara said, her voice suddenly steely. "He's a single man, and wounded. The Followers help him 'cause that's what they do. They don't let a wounded man die on their doorstep. Where does that lead them, deciding who is worthy of help and who isn't? Anyone could be next."  
Unable to find a response, the man glared at her.

"Besides...", Tara went on, "...have any of you ever thought about that these men didn't have a choice about what they are? Their tribes were swallowed by the Legion, these men have been brought up to believe in its ideals from the cradle. Indoctrinated, brainwashed, unable to see beyond their own beliefs."  
"Those bastards all deserve to die!", the present leader of the mob yelled at her.  
"Funny", Tara snapped back. "I heard almost precisely these words in the Legion camp, directed at the people here in Vegas and Freeside."

A heavy silence hung in the street, with the only sounds the shuffling of feet and the whirring of the securitrons.

"Killing them because the beliefs they have been indoctrinated with are not your own?", Tara went on. "Sounds exactly like their philosophy to me. In what aspect, then, are you better than them, if you fail to show mercy or pity to one single, dying man?"  
He failed to think of an answer.  
"If you want to be better than them...", Tara said sternly, "...then you have to _be_ better than them."  
"And what if he falls into your back after saving him?"  
Tara had to laugh. "And what would he do? I am surrounded by security robots. The whole of Vegas _and_ Freeside is littered with them. A single man? What would he do? Run back to the Legion? There is no Legion anymore, my friends. I went into the Legion Camp to give Caesar a last chance to retreat, which of course, he refused. Now he's dead, and his officers are dead, and every single Legionary we laid our eyes or sensors on is dead, as well. What is he to do? Curse you all in Latin?"

A few men behind their spokesman began to chuckle, and instantly, the evil mood broke. The leader looked back over his shoulder and then shrugged. "Very well. Waste your time and medicine on a man who will most likely be dead the moment he leaves your protection. If anyone finds out he's Legion, they'll kill him."  
"I can understand where you're coming from", Tara said in a somewhat gentler voice. "But I still haven't given up hope to save him. I couldn't make a single Legionary surrender. Maybe I can talk to this one and make him see his wrongs."  
"Pah. Idealistic shit."  
"It's the way I am", Tara replied slowly. "If I didn't believe in something good in every man, I wouldn't have tried and tried to find a peaceful solution to this conflict."  
"Well." He spat out again but shoved his hands in his pockets. "You guarantee he's not coming to kill any of us in our sleep."  
"I will", Tara gave back. "Don't worry."  
The spokesman of the would-be mob wiped the back of his hand across his nose and nodded. "Fine."

Tara took a step back as the people dispersed and looked first at Arcade, then at Julie.  
"I'm impressed", the latter said with a tiny smile. "You do have a way with words most people could only dream of."  
With a shrug, Tara turned around and headed for the gate again. Arcade and Julie exchanged another glance, but followed suit. They could see how tired Tara was, how her shoulders sagged, and didn't envy her the power she suddenly held in her hands.  
"I'd like to see the legionary", Tara said after the gates had closed behind them.  
Arcade nodded. "Follow me." While they walked over to the tent, Arcade filled her in with the details of the man's injuries. When they reached the tent, Tara was a little pale.

There was no one else in there, and Tara stepped close to the bed in hopes of maybe recognising the man; she had talked to Caesar in the presence of his complete staff of command, but what little she saw of his face that wasn't swathed in bandages gave her no clue. She leaned a little closer. "Ave", she said softly, and his eye sprang open. Instantly, however, he began to tear at the braces that tied him to his bed. He couldn't scream, but the muffled groan told Tara that he would have done so if his jaw hadn't been bandaged tightly shut.

"Here", she said and but her hand on his right cheekbone, the only bit of skin visible of his face. "Don't be afraid. You're safe. We'll help you. You're not chained, but have severe injuries and broken limbs. Don't strain yourself."  
It was of no use. His eye widened more and more until it was almost completely white and his heart rate shot up like mad. With a muttered curse, Julie simply ran out of the tent to return a few seconds later with a syringe. She injected whatever was inside and within mere moments, the legionary's eyelid began to droop. His limbs relaxed and his heart rate went down to normal again while his eye slowly glassed over.

"I'm afraid we have to keep him sedated until his mind is clear enough to understand his situation", Julie said upon leaning back. "I am sure he's in a lot of pain, as well. We weren't sure how much painkiller his weakened system could handle. He's lost an awful amount of blood."

Tara slowly turned her back to them and wiped her eyes. "You know what I've just discovered?"  
The two doctors looked at each other with a worried frown.  
"No?", said Arcade.  
Tara looked at them over her shoulder. "That the saying that there are things you wouldn't wish upon your greatest enemy isn't just a phrase." Then she left the tent, her shoulders sagging even more.

And looking at the pitiful apparition on the bed, the two Followers could only agree.


	4. Chapter 4

While Tara was dealing with politics on the Strip for the next few days, establishing connections, gathering advice and in general trying to get the three Families to work together in some sort of council, the Followers fought for the life of a former enemy.  
Giving intensive care under the rough conditions they had to deal with was a challenge, and not a pleasant one. They fought his infection for days before the fever finally broke.

Tara had come by every day to check on them and the legionary, but he still wasn't responsive. So they kept him sedated for another couple of days more. It was two weeks after he had been brought in that they deemed his cardio-vascular system recovered sufficiently to administer more potent drugs to him to speed up the healing process. Only then did they finally dare to stop the treatment with sedatives, watching him closely as the last dose slowly began to wear off.

Tara happened to be in the Fort at that time and had asked for permission to be present as well. She kept in the background though and watched Julie and Arcade hover worriedly over the wounded man.

Arcade was just cautiously removing the bandages that bound his jaw. "Seems like the fracture has been healing up nicely", he said and ran a gentle finger across the jaw line. "There will remain a slight distortion, however. Not much we could to about that."  
The eye of the wounded man in the bed slowly came to rest on Arcade's face.  
"Can you talk?", the doctor asked.  
The legionary just stared at him.  
Arcade shrugged and looked over his shoulder at Julie and Tara. "Would he speak English at all?"  
It was Tara's turn to shrug now. "Maybe. I wouldn't really know; I never spoke to the simple soldiers. Maybe they only speak their tribal dialect and Latin. I simply don't know."

"Hm." Arcade shifted his attention back to his patient. "Do you understand me at all?"  
This time, he got a reaction. With a cautious, hesitating move of his head, the man nodded.  
"Good. Can you remember what happened to you?"  
The legionary looked uncomfortably up at Arcade, then shook his head. His eye grew wide and he shook his head again.  
"Easy now", Arcade said as gently as he could and placed a hand on his patient's shoulder. "That's quite normal after a shock. You've been seriously injured. Can you tell me your name?"  
The man began to tremble, his face white as a sheet. Julie stepped to his other side, a syringe at the ready, but Arcade held up his hand, bidding her to wait.  
"You are not a prisoner", Arcade went on. "Do you understand? You are not our prisoner. We are the Followers of the Apocalypse, we don't take prisoners; we only help those in need. Do you understand? We will not harm you."

He didn't stop trembling. When Arcade asked him for his name again, he opened his mouth, but only a weak and hoarse croak escaped him.

Julie left the tent to come back moments later with a cup full of water. She carefully lifted the wounded man's head and helped him sip a little of it. He licked his lips, eager for more, but she went slowly and cautiously. She laid his head back onto the pillow and asked for his name again, and again, he went as pale as a shroud. Julie put a hand on his cheek.  
"You don't remember", she said. "It's all right, it'll all come back to you. You are suffering from a severe trauma, no surprise considering what you've gone through. Now don't be afraid, it will all come back to you. It's only temporary. Do you understand?"

His mind seemed somewhat clearer than it had been before, because this time, he nodded.

"Good." Julie gently patted his cheek, inwardly surprised about herself and how she could be like that with a former enemy. But a patient was a patient, she told herself, and she was glad she was able to put all personal differences aside as long as someone's life was at stake. There were warriors and healers in the world, and she definitely knew her place.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x**_

Tara came back later that afternoon to check on the legionary and was pleased and anxious at the same time to find him still awake. She slowly leant over him and looked into his eye, he looked back, still tired, still worn and weak, and with no sign of recognition.  
"You don't know me?", she asked.  
His reply was a hoarse croak. "Should I?"  
"I don't know", she replied with a shrug. "I had dealings with the Legion and I was hoping for the off chance of having met you, to give us a clue as to who you are."  
He gave her a blank look of utter incomprehension.  
"Legion?", Tara said again. "Does that word mean anything to you? Caesar? Son of Mars?"  
He shook his head.  
"Damn it." Yet she smiled, an embarrassed little twist of her mouth. "I guess this little riddle requires a bit more patience, and I have to admit that this is not one of my virtues."

Looking at his blank and perplexed face Tara felt sorrier for him than she could have imagined she would for any member of the Legion. Tortured half to death as he was, maimed, mutilated and utterly cut off from his own soul due to his memory loss, she suddenly realised she could no longer hate him.

"You really need a name, though", she went on after a while. "Would you mind us giving you one, temporarily, like, until you remember?"  
He simply nodded, his eye empty of feelings as if he didn't really care what they called him. Tara could sympathize; since it wouldn't be his real name it didn't really matter what they chose.  
Arcade chose that moment to re-enter the tent with another bottle of water. He spotted Tara and smiled. "Hi. I see you've got acquainted with each other."

"I have an idea", Tara said and Arcade, clueless as to the conversation that had taken part prior to his entrance, lifted his eyebrows questioningly.  
"A name", Tara went on. "He needs a name. Or we need something to call him by. I go through the alphabet, and you say stop."  
Arcade blinked a few times until he made sense of her words. "Uhm. Stop?"  
"V?" Tara made a face. "Are you serious? What names start with V?"  
"Uhm..." Arcade put the bottle on the little table beside the legionary's bed. "Virgil?"  
Tara snorted.  
"Maybe you should have gone slower."  
"Maybe you should have gone faster."

Then the two became aware again of what they were actually trying to achieve and looked at the man in the bed again who eyed them with utter and unmasked bewilderment.

"V", Tara said again. "V as in..."  
"Valentine?", Arcade ventured again.  
Tara shook her head. "Please."  
"Vaughn? Vernon?"  
"Nah."  
"You're not making this easy, Tara." Arcade pushed his glasses up his nose with a little scowl. "Victor?"  
"He doesn't look very victorious now, does he?", Tara gave back only to blush with embarrassment when she looked at his face again. "Uh... no offence meant", she stammered and couldn't meet his eye.  
Arcade sighed again, tapped his chin and shrugged. "Vincent?"  
"Vincent. That could work, you know." Tara looked at the wounded man again. "What do you think? Could you be Vincent for the time being?"  
The twitch of the legionary's shoulders might have been an attempt at a shrug. "As good as anything else", he rasped and closed his eye again.

When Arcade told her he had to check on the injuries and asked her to leave, Tara did so with her thoughts already galloping ahead of her. Upgrading and embellishing the Fort with more durable buildings instead of tents was on her priority list for things to achieve in the near future, among dozens of other things, yet the infrastructural challenge of providing the Fort with water and electricity remained. That very evening she would have to go through another meeting with the Families on the Strip as well to resolve issues of taxing, and just the thought about the issue gave her a headache.

Since the immediate issues left by the hasty withdrawal of the NCR had been solved, to a degree, and the Families grudgingly accepted her position as Mr House's successor she now had to find a way to re-build the city that was now her responsibility. And for that, she needed help. She could never do this alone. She headed for the gates, on her way to the only man she could think of that might be able to help her.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x**_

"What can the King do for you, darling?"  
Tara dragged her hands down her face. "Plain and simple? I need help running this place. And since you have experience in running the place, well, your half of it, I thought I'd ask you."  
The King slowly sat back and placed his hands on the table. "I thought that robot of yours was running things?"  
Tara snorted softly under her breath. "He's just a robot. He can run things, to a degree, on the technical side. He's my link with the securitrons. What I'm talking about is politics. Running a city. I know you've cared for Freeside and have tried to keep it safe. I want to do the same, you know. But I want the Strip and Freeside to grow into a community. See, the Strip has resources. Freeside has manpower. If we could combine efforts, this city could become a place worth of proudly handing over to our descendants."  
The King smiled slowly at her and nodded. "I admire your notions, Tara. But what exactly would you expect of me?"

Tara leaned back in her own chair and pressed two fingers of her right hand against her temple. "You know Freeside. The people here. What do they need? What does Freeside need? And how can we achieve it?"  
The King tapped his chin in thought for a while. "Grand plans, to be sure", he said, but with a tiny smile. "But maybe we should include the Followers in this kind of discussion. They're a bit closer to the people's more direct needs, if you catch my drift."  
"I do." Tara folded her hands. "I am also trying to build some sort of City council."  
The King chuckled under his breath. "Your plans are getting grander and grander, young lady. But if you are really serious about all this then I'd say yes, we need some sort of council to run this place. Combined efforts and all that."  
"And combined knowledge." Tara stood up and the King rose as well. "Thank you for now", Tara said. "I'll talk with the Followers again, and with the Families as well. There's got to be a way to get us all to work together for our city. We all live here, I mean. It can only be in everyone's interest to work together."  
"In theory, yes.", the King replied, and despite her idealistic notions, Tara knew he was speaking nothing but the plain truth


	5. Chapter 5

**The Strip, November 9, 2281**

Convincing the Families to attend a meeting at the Lucky38 hadn't taken much effort, but as soon as the issue of taxes was raised all three of them, Marjorie, Cachino and Benny, went into a complete mental lockdown, refusing even to listen.

"Please", Tara tried again, but Marjorie interrupted her.  
"I don't see any reason why we should throw our hard earned money at those dirty, filthy, worthless junkies hovering around our city."  
"As much as I hate so say it, but I totally agree with her this once", Benny added and crossed his arms.  
Cachino hadn't said anything, just barely sneered.

"But Marjorie", Tara said, summoning patience. "Where do you think our supplies will come from, now that the NCR is gone?"  
Marjorie still looked at her with a tight-lipped face, but at least she was listening.  
"No more caravans, for god knows how long. Maybe there's never going to be any caravans again from that direction. We need to be self-sufficient. And we as in we, the city of New Vegas, with all of its parts. Who is there to trade with? What do you spend your precious caps on when there is nothing to buy?"

Marjorie exchanged a look with Benny, then with Cachino who had stopped sneering.

"Don't you understand?", Tara went on. "Without the Freesiders to work the farms, grow crops and breed stock, there will be no food for this city. And they won't feed you here on the Strip without anything in return from you. The alternative would be digging up your courtyards and turning them into vegetable patches and pastures."

A heavy silence hung in the room as the leaders of the Families were faced with that ominous picture. Finally, after a long moment, Benny leaned forward. "What do you suggest?"

"I suggest trying to build a society", Tara said hesitatingly. "I'm aware that this is a pretty grand scheme, but we have to try. You are the ones with the resources. Outside the strip, there are people in need of them. You supply the city's infrastructure and they supply the city's goods. It sounds a lot easier than it is, I gather, but what else can we do but try, with the NCR out of the picture good and proper?"  
Marjorie stared thoughtfully at the table top before her. Benny rubbed his fingers across his chin and Cachino inspected his fingernails with a very thoughtful frown.  
"So what we need...", Benny finally said, "...is a government."  
"Right." Tara looked at the other two who looked back and forth between the three of them. "Some sort of government, a city council or something like it."  
"I gather we who are present in this room are to be members?", Benny asked, yet it didn't sound like a question.  
"Of course", Tara gave back. "The leading members of the Strip. Together with the King, who has pretty much ruled Freeside for more than a decade now and the Followers who have been doing their part in Freeside for even longer."

Obviously none of the three leaders of the Families relished the thought of relinquishing any of the power they had amassed over the years, but they seemed to see the need for this course of action. If Vegas was to survive, it needed a lot of effort. From all of them.  
So the council was brought into being the very next day, consisting of Julie Farkas, the King, the three leaders of the Families and Tara. They spent many strenuous hours discussing and planning, their meeting dragging out long into the night.

But they all were lashed on by Tara's enthusiasm and her energy, her unbending will to achieve anything for the greater good. Her way with words, her ability to make people listen to her, to talk them round into believing her, at least for the moment, had always been the one strong point she had. It was the one thing she was grateful for now.

Few people would give up their own beliefs willingly, but most people would follow a true visionary. Tara was such a visionary but she had no illusions, however, that they would ultimately share her dreams. For now, they shared her vision because presently, she was the only one offering the people a way forward so they would follow her, even if only so they could pursue their own intentions. But for now, they were acting in concert and that was all Tara asked for. When the meeting broke up she was as exhausted as she was relieved that she managed to get things started the way she had hoped they would, but she would have to remind herself that in the end, it was not her vision that mattered but what people got out of it.

"You know...", Julie said to the King who had gallantly offered to walk her home, attended by two of his gang members as bodyguards, "...that woman could become a legend in her own lifetime."

The King pondered these words and nodded with a smile. "Yeah, she's amazing in her own, special way." Then he winked, took Julie's hand and breathed a kiss onto it. "Same as other people I could think of. Good night, Julie." He left her standing there, Julie staring at his back with a self-conscious smile and a fierce blush on her face.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x**_

Meanwhile in the Fort, the man called Vincent had been haunted by nightmares that had made him scream and whimper in his sleep although he could remember nothing of them when a worried Arcade tried to calm the tortured, panicked soul after waking him up. At least now, after having listened to him babbling in an odd mixture of English, a strange tribal dialect he had never heard before, and Latin, Arcade's last doubts that the injured amnesic man was indeed a legionary vanished for good.

No amount of rooting around in his brain brought anything to light, however, not a single frozen picture of a memory, but given the nightmares, Arcade thought that maybe this wasn't entirely a bad thing. He offered the man, and he still had to remind himself to call him Vincent, a dose of sedatives which 'Vincent'declined.

"I don't like the muddled state they leave me in", he rasped, still hoarse even after so long a time. Arcade began to suspect that his voice box had been permanently damaged as well, which was a bit of a bugger in itself as even someone who might have spoken to him at one point wouldn't be able to even recognise him by his voice.

On the other hand, if the man didn't remember, that might keep his past from coming back to haunt him. Arcade narrowed his eyes when he recalled some of the injuries. Well, maybe not haunt him any more than it already would. He surely would never bed a woman again nor father children, and with his broken jaw and nose and the gash in his face that had destroyed his left eye he probably would have a hard time recognising himself in a mirror even if he got his memory back.


	6. Chapter 6

** Freeside, November 19, 2281**

To make sure the group of NCR soldiers that had been patched up by the Followers got safely under way, Tara had equipped them with provisions, food, water and meds, as well as weapons and ammunition. She had no intention to keep prisoners of war and had no idea what to do with them, either. Instead she sent them off with a message that New Vegas wished for peaceful, diplomatic relations with the NCR, stressing that trade would always be mutually beneficial. The soldiers, surprised by the unexpected good treatment they had received, assured her they would relate her message. More they couldn't do, it was in the hands of their superiors to actually decide if diplomacy was in order or no. Given the fact of their defeat and the standing army of New Vegas, they would be stupid to do otherwise. That remained unsaid, of course, but the words hung unspoken in the air.

Making the poor men walk all the way however was out of question for her so she had, with Arcade's help, badgered Daisy into ferrying the soldiers close to the border of their homeland by vertibird.

Properly impressed the men made their farewells, and Tara watched the vertibird disappear with mixed feelings; hoping, on the one hand, that the NCR would accept an offer of peace and worried about it nonetheless, wondering if it had been a good idea of contacting them so soon after their defeat at Hoover Dam. There was nothing else but to wait and see.

When the vertibird had vanished from sight, Tara returned to the Fort. She was met by Julie who, for the first time in weeks, bore a smile upon seeing her that actually reached her eyes.  
"Morning Julie."

"Good morning", the doctor replied. "I must say that was a grand gesture, with the vertibird and all that. I hope the NCR accepts our offer."  
Tara shrugged. "There's nothing for it if they don't. At least we don't have to worry about an invasion right now, not with the standing army we have."  
"Now that's true, and strangely relieving." Julie smiled at her. "Arcade just brewed us a batch of coffee. Fancy some?"  
"Sounds fantastic."

Tara followed Julie into the tent and accepted a cup of coffee with a grateful smile.

"I was actually meaning to inquire about our, or should I say your, special patient", Tara said and blew onto her steaming coffee.

Julie took a sip of hers. "He left his bed for the first time yesterday morning but wasn't able to walk more than two steps. It irks him, but he's been in bed for so long that he will have to build up his strength again, and slowly."  
Tara nodded. "Any sign of him recovering his memories?"  
"None." Julie stared into her cup. "Every time we ask, he tries, he really tries, but all he gets out of the effort is a vicious headache. I think we'd better let it rest and wait for the memory to return on its own."

"Nothing to be done about that", Tara said with a sigh and sipped her coffee in a thoughtful silence. "What about the slaves?", she asked after a moment. "Have they settled down?"

"To an extent. It's not easy for them, and we have to keep giving them precise orders. They might learn to be independent at one point, but presently we need to appoint someone as overseer, just to keep them going. Without someone to guide them, they just fall into apathy. I think they are still shell-shocked in their own way."

"Any idea what could be done about that?"

"No." Julie shook her head in emphasis. "Other than giving it time. But things are improving, if slowly. There are quite a few slaves, after all, that weren't born as slaves and they keep talking to the others. A few of them have left us, however, to return home. Those that used to live nearby, at least. Others said that there's nothing left for them to return to and have stayed because of that, if nothing else."  
Tara nodded. "And the farms?"  
"Are perfectly all right. The fleeing NCR sharecroppers saw no point in destroying everything they left behind so it wouldn't fall into enemy hands. I can't but be grateful for that. We have houses, basic plumbing and electricity and established crops that only need tending. Presently we have some people fencing off areas for livestock."  
"That sounds very promising."  
Julie allowed herself a smile. "It does, doesn't it?"

They sipped their coffee for a while in silence before Tara set her cup down. "Is there anything else you could think of that needs doing?"

"Well..." Julie stared into her cup. "When I was out at the farms a day before yesterday I couldn't help but notice that the old interstate highway looks even worse out there. It kind of looms directly above the farms, if you know what I mean."

"It needs taking down", Tara said slowly. "I thought about it as well. It's a miracle that more parts of it haven't collapsed; it's an accident waiting to happen. Next time one of the pillars breaks there's going to be people buried under it."

"That's what worries me, too."  
"Right. I think we might be able to use dynamite in areas where it's not too close to living areas. The rest will have to be torn down with muscle and hard work."

"It's going to be dangerous work as well."  
"Don't you think I know that?", Tara gave back with a deep frown. "The only hope we have is that there's only going to be injuries and no deaths, but that may be overly optimistic. If we leave it as it is, however, then people will most certainly die at one point."

"I know." Julie sighed. "I know."


	7. Chapter 7

Three days later a large corps of volunteers and former slaves started on the dangerous yet necessary work of tearing down the ancient interstate. Tara herself had left Vegas for a couple of days on a mission of her own and left the overseeing of the work to the Followers and the Kings. The Strip was, as usual, able to look out for itself.

Tara had something in mind when she left, but on her way south she was still weighing arguments against each other in her head. If it would work, if it could work at all. If she would be able to talk to the men she was thinking of in the first place. But desperate times required desperate measures. She had tried to save legionaries, she could try to persuade some powder gangers to help her.

After a few days of searching, she found a group of them huddled in a hollow at the base of a cliff, a little southeast of Primm. She approached them from the cliff top, crouching silently, and when she was directly above them, stood up, bare hands outstretched.  
The men noticed her and scrambled to their feet, grabbing for their weapons, and Tara could only hope they'd listen.

"I come to parley", she called. "Will you listen?"  
The men, seeing that she was presently unarmed, hesitated and exchanged a few glances and shrugs.  
"What?", one of them finally called.  
Tara took a deep breath. "I'd like to make you an offer."  
The spokesman took a step towards the base of the cliff. "What about you come down there so we can see what's behind your back?"

Tara considered this and realised that to negotiate with these men she had to somehow gain their trust. "I'm coming down", she called and made her way down the cliff again. Rounding the edge of the rocky outcrop, her hands still half outstretched at her side, she saw that none of the men had lowered their weapons. But they weren't pointing them at her, either, and Tara took that as a good sign.

"Waddya want, bitch?", the leader snapped.  
"I want to make an offer", Tara said again. "I could use your help."  
The five men exchanged a few glances.  
"Listen", Tara went on. "I know you live on the run. I could imagine you're pretty sick of living rough in the wilderness out here, and I offer you amnesty and a chance to live in peace, in Vegas, if you want, or Freeside."  
"Huh." The spokesman spat onto the ground beside him. "What makes you think we want to?"  
Tara shrugged. "It's just an offer."  
"And what do you want of us?", another of the gangers fell in.  
"Expertise", Tara said simply. "I need someone who's good at handling explosives."

Grins and coarse chuckles were the reply. After looking at each of his pals, their apparent leader spoke again. "You want us to blow things up for you, and in turn, we're no longer outlaws?"  
"Precisely."  
A long, thoughtful silence followed her words.  
"What guarantee do we have you're not selling us out?"  
"To whom?"  
"The fucking NCR, bitch."  
Tara chuckled. "I guess you haven't heard, living out here as you do. The NCR is gone. Tail between their legs, they made their way back home after they lost at Hoover Dam."  
The gangers exchanged a few more glances, of disbelief this time. A few of them began to grin.

"But you're not legion, are you?", the leader said.  
"No. We're the newly independent Vegas."  
"We?"  
Tara shrugged. "We're still figuring things out. The Families and the people of Freeside."  
"And who exactly are you?"  
"I'm Tara", she replied with a tiny smile. "Also known as Courier Six."  
The men goggled at her for a few seconds before some of them began to laugh.  
"All right", the leader said. "You're the gal what offed House and took over New Vegas?"  
"The very one."  
He wolf-whistled. "All right", he said again. "And if you offer amnesty..."  
"Than amnesty you'll have", Tara finished for him. "We're trying to tear down the old interstate before it collapses on someone's head. Are you game?"

For the last time the men exchanged a few glances before the leader shouldered his gun, grinned and replied: "You lead the way, missy."

_**x-x-x-x-x-x**_

With the help of the former powder gangers the work on the old highway proceeded surprisingly fast. They knew their way around explosives like no one else, and managed to place carefully measured amounts of dynamite with such accuracy that collateral damage was reduced to a minimum. Within a week the remnants of the Highway inside the walls of Freeside was torn down and the troupes of workers moved on to the Farmland surrounding it. While they'd been at it, a few of the more ramshackle houses had also been torn down, and large groups or workers, former slaves and others, now sorted through the wreckage, salvaging useable bricks and bits of metal and shovelling grit and rubble.

Brahmins dragged one travois laden with rubble after another out of the city to clear the space, forming a roughly circular embankment resembling the foundations of a city wall from afar. Maybe at one point in the future it could be used for proper fortifications, but right now, the priority was making Freeside safe and accessible.

When Tara went to check on the progress during the second week of the clearing effort, she was surprised to see the legionary among the men loading concrete blocks onto a brahmin cart. Watching him for a while it was obvious he wasn't fully recovered as he paused often to catch his breath back.

When he leaned back against a wall, wiping the front of his shirt across his face to remove the paste of grit and sweat, Tara couldn't help but wince, both at seeing the scarification criss-crossing his chest where strips of skin had been torn off and the two reddish welts of scar tissue that once had been his nipples.

She swallowed her unease and walked up to him. "I see you've somewhat recovered", she said. "But are you sure it's a good idea for you to labour like that?"  
He dropped his shirt and shrugged. "If I stay inside that tent all the time I'll go mad."  
"True enough." She mustered him. "But..." And here she lowered her voice. "Are you sure it's safe? For you, I mean."  
He stared at her in mild confusion.  
"What if the people here find out what you are?"  
He shrugged again. "What would they do?"  
"You... oh, I suppose no one told you yet. The day you... were brought in here, I had to chase away a lynch mob from the gates of the fort."  
The former legionary's gaze hardened as he slowly lowered his hands. "I didn't know that, no."  
"I guess it's not really fair, since you can't even remember anything they were about to lynch you for."  
"I am an enemy. That should be sufficient justification."  
Tara frowned. "A former enemy. I'm pretty sure that presently you pose a threat to no one."

An unreadable trace of emotion flickered across his face. "Most likely not. Be that as it may, if most here still see me as an enemy I might be safer inside the Fort. I just need to make myself useful, somehow. I can't just sit around all day and eat your food without earning it."  
"That honours you", Tara gave back gently. "Just be aware of how much to reveal about yourself. Use the name we gave you and nothing else. We'll think of something."  
"Considering the things you have told me about my side, I'm surprised you would", he said levelly, looking squarely into her eyes.  
Tara held the gaze and likewise spoke slowly. "If you want to be better than your enemy, you have to _be_ better. I'm fully aware this may seem like weakness. But if I want to make people see my point I can hardly kill those that refuse to do so. I don't believe in violent solutions. Call me a dreamer. But maybe... just maybe that approach will work better than the NCR's, or the Legion's, for that matter. See where it got them."  
He shrugged as he turned his back to her. "I wouldn't know."  
"No, of course not." Tara took a step back to be out of the way of a travois laden with bricks.

Watching him go, Tara wondered what would happen if these people found out, and if she would be able to avoid bloodshed. She also wondered why she cared so much. Maybe because his fate was something similar to her own, forgetting all of his past, his name, and everything that was his life after a trauma and almost fatal injury. Admittedly, she had not been tortured, but somehow, she could imagine how he had to feel. When she left Freeside, she wondered if he sometimes felt as lonely as she did, and again, wondered why it mattered to her.


	8. Chapter 8

** Freeside, November 29, 2281 **

"We have a problem", was the first thing Julie said when Tara entered the Fort. She and Arcade seemed deeply disturbed and troubled by something, and looking at them, Tara felt another headache announce itself.  
"What is it now?"  
"A gang of rapists. Well, we think it's a gang."  
"Are you... no, you aren't kidding me, are you."  
"I wish I was", Julie replied. "Last night we got two girls in, sisters, in fact, found by their family, lying in a sorry heap with their clothes torn off and their throats slit, behind the old station. The younger of the two had just turned fifteen." Julie shook her head. "It's... it's terrible. This morning another woman was brought to the Fort who had also been raped and killed the same way."

Tara buried her face in her hands. "That's exactly what we need right now with all the slaves and everything." Straightening up again, she sighed. "I'll send a couple more Securitrons over as soon as I'm back in the 38. Think that'll help?"  
"It certainly won't hurt", Arcade joined in. "But they would need to patrol all of Freeside."  
"The trouble with securitrons is that they can't arrest someone. They can only threaten and then shoot", Tara gave back thoughtfully.  
"Maybe they can threaten the gang into lying low until we can build up some sort of citizens' militia who can", Arcade replied, and Tara nodded.  
"I'll be sending you a handful, then. Think that'll be enough?"  
"My guess is we'd need at least a dozen." Arcade shrugged. "Or so I hope."  
Tara nodded and pulled a notebook from her pocket. "Great. Now we need a jail as well, as if we didn't have like twenty really essential matters on our mind."

Julie and Arcade could only exchange a helpless glance and a shrug before the three of them withdrew into a tent to talk about the present and more pressing needs of the Followers.

After having spent a very long evening talking with Julie and Arcade about refurbishing the Fort, making plans, drawing concepts and the like, Tara made her way home with another vicious headache quite late in the night. Freeside lay mostly still and empty, for Freeside, that is. The city in itself was never completely dark and never completely silent.  
She passed the tents that had been erected to house refugees and slaves when someone hailed her, beckoning her when she stopped to look "Help! Over here!"

Thinking that someone must have found another raped girl Tara broke out into a run, following the man into a dark and narrow side alley.

A little way into the alley, she realised that the man who had beckoned her over was nowhere to be seen anymore. She was alone. Yet as she spun around, a feeling of cold dread trickling down her back, she found her escape lane cut off by a group of five masked men.

"Hello there", one of them said.  
"That was too easy", another chimed in.

Trying to fight down panic, Tara took a few steps back, the men following her while eyeing her cautiously. She realised then that she had another disadvantage: The men in front of her had the light of the street lamps at their back, so making them nothing but dark outlines to her while she was illuminated, to a degree. Enough, in any case, that they would see her every move and there was no way she could stealthily draw her pistol. The moment she did, they would be upon her and she had no chance of taking down five men before she was overcome, cornered as she was. Her only chance was to call for help.

She had hesitated too long, however. She opened her mouth to scream, but the first man pounced and careened into her so hard that it punched the breath out of her, making her scream die off before it had fully emerged.  
Maybe not fighting back would save her, but the thought of giving in to avoid getting hurt only increased her helpless fury.

She tried to fight back but was knocked over the head, and while her vision grew dark and somewhat blurry with the pain, she heard one of them say: "Hurry up, we're too close to the tents. And be quiet about it!"  
A wadded ball of rags was stuffed into her mouth and moments later she was thrown onto her back. Struggling helplessly to try and get away from the man who now threw himself bodily upon her, Tara scraped her hands and forearms painfully on the concrete but her assailant took her by the shoulders and knocked her head against the ground. Now in even more pain and unable to scream, Tara began to wish she could just pass out and never wake up again. Tears burned in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks when he tied her hands together with a piece of cloth.

"HEY!"  
"Shit!"  
The man above her froze and jumped off from her.  
Still dizzy and with her head hurting like hell it took Tara a while to lift her head enough to see what was happening.

Another man had entered the alley and one of the rapists was already lying face down and didn't move any more. Her rescuer knocked out the second man with a skilled blow with the edge of his flat hand against the thug's neck.  
One of the thugs moved around him, or tried to, at least, but the man spun around like a snake and kicked the feet out from under him, planting another firm kick between his legs as he stumbled. The thug emitted a painful wheeze and rolled up into a ball.

The other two had now circled their opponent after all and one grabbed her would-be rescuer's arms, trying to force them behind his back. The man, in turn, went completely limp for a moment, thus throwing his attacker off balance. When the thug stumbled he lashed out with his legs and caught the thug opposite of him under the chin with a crunching crack that made him topple over and hit the ground like a sack of rocks. The thug tried to renew his grip on Tara's rescuer and managed to sling an arm around the other man's neck to choke him. Yet instead of clawing at the arm and trying to free himself, her rescuer pushed himself into his attacker, and for a second the two of them looked like a bizarre pair of lovers before her rescuer reached around him and hammered both the edges of his hands into his attacker's flanks. A muffled 'oomph' escaped the thug, forcing him to rearrange his grip after trying to get his breath back and thus giving the other man the one second he needed. With a racing heart Tara watched as her rescuer finally got a grip on his adversary's arm and, with a heave of his whole upper body, threw the thug over his shoulder and slammed him into the ground.

The whole fight hadn't taken more than mere moments, but to Tara, crouching on the ground, bound and gagged and with her head throbbing in pain, it seemed to have lasted for an hour or two.

The last man standing now shook his arm, gingerly touched his throat and after a hoarse cough, hurried over to lower himself onto his knees beside her. The one eye she could see of him glowed in the dark, most likely still from the fight, and for a second Tara was overcome by an irrational surge of panic that he would want to rape her, too, before he gently took her chin in one hand to steady her head as he carefully removed the gag.

Tara gasped for air and coughed, hardly able to believe her luck; she was shaking all over and ice-cold. Shock, she thought in a strangely detached way, and looked up into the probing eye of her rescuer. For he had indeed only one eye.  
"Vincent?"  
He gave her a small, lopsided smile that lasted only for a second. "Tonight is the first time I won't curse my insomnia", he said. "Are you hurt?"  
She shook her head. "Not really. I... I've been hit on the back of the head a few times, but... you came in time." Suddenly the tears were back, forcing their way out despite all her efforts of holding them back. "Thanks..." her voice was thick and hoarse and she swallowed and looked away.

Vincent in turn just sighed in a way suggesting only mild irritation at the whole situation and reached out for her hands to untie them. Having done that, he put one arm around her shoulders and slipped the other under her knees, gathering her up into his arms as he stood up again.  
He silently carried her back to the Fort in long strides.

The Followers could do little more for her than put a stimpack into the lump at the back of her head and sprinkle her arms with healing powder after cleaning the scrapes. Julie pressed a cup of hot honey mesquite tea sweetened with agave syrup into her hands and sat down beside her to assess the level of shock she was in, yet since Tara had gone through quite a lot during the last months, she seemed to be relatively composed once she got some of the tea down and thus a bit of sugar into her system.

Arcade had, in the meantime, checked Vincent up, but had found only minor bruises and a few scrapes from fingernails. Since one could never know where those people might have had their hands last, Arcade disinfected those scrapes thoroughly, but otherwise there was no need for further treatment.

"Are you aware...", he said gravely as he looked Vincent over again, "...that you not only saved a woman's life today but everything we have been fighting for?"  
Vincent seemed honestly surprised and slightly taken aback by that and looked at Tara for a moment before his eyes fell back on Arcade.  
"I mean everything", the doctor went on. "Vegas, Freeside, the whole Mojave. The Big Dream, without her... without her, it all falls to pieces."  
"Then if she is so valuable, why does she walk around alone at night?", Vincent gave back. "She should go nowhere without some... of these robots in attendance."  
"The securitrons?" Arcade asked.  
"The securitrons are very simple soldiers", Tara fell in, looking up at the two men. "If someone attacks me they'll fire and are more likely to kill me than to save me in the process. They're not really intelligent, you know."  
Vincent shook his head. "Then you need bodyguards. You cannot be allowed to endanger yourself if you are that important."

Tara looked at him, then smiled under lowered eyelids. "Then I seem to be in need of somebody whom I can ask for permission first. Fancy the position?"  
Ignoring the slight mockery and crossing his arms, Vincent straightened his back. "I don't have a single weapon to my name", he said stiffly.  
Tara chuckled under her breath, worn and tired but still a little amused. "You didn't need any weapons whatsoever to deal with those five thugs at once tonight."  
He frowned and blinked a few times before answering, as if it had only occurred to him at that point how highly outnumbered he had been and that he had come out of the fight almost unscathed, considering the odds. "You're right, aren't you."  
"Bet you didn't know you had it in you, although your body obviously remembered.", Tara gave back. "I guess the Legion trained you well."  
"I wouldn't know." Vincent's frown deepened. "But that seems to be the case."

"But Tara", Julie fell in. "Do you really... I mean, can we trust him? What if he remembers?" She looked worriedly at the scarred man.  
"What, indeed." Tara tilted her head and looked straight into Vincent's eye. He returned the gaze stoically, for a moment reminding her of Boone's soldier-and-superior expression when being talked about while present. "I don't know. How likely is it that he will remember at all?", she said with slightly narrowed eyes, intently watching Vincent's now entirely blank face.  
"No one can say that", Julie replied hesitatingly. "And therein lies the problem."  
"Maybe I should start at the beginning and ask him first if he wants the position at all."  
A tiny victorious smile flickered over Vincent's face for a second.

"Would you fancy the job, Vincent?"  
"Am I trustworthy enough, then?"  
Tara chuckled again. "To hell if I know. But presently, you're the one most qualified for the job. After what you did today, there's no one else I'd rather have to watch my back."

Both Julie and Arcade didn't fail to notice the shadow that flit over her face at these last words, but they kept their silence.

Tara in turn got up from her chair and held out a hand to the former Legionary who had, tonight, saved her from being raped and killed. "Will you keep me safe from my own stupidity?"  
"I guess that lies beyond my power", he replied dryly. "But I can certainly keep you safe from other threats."  
With that, he took the offered hand and Tara closed her fingers around it. "Splendid."


	9. Chapter 9

** The Strip, December 31, 2281 **

By now Tara had re- arranged the casino floor in the Lucky38 by having the playing tables and slot machines removed, replacing them with a large, round table with matching chairs in the centre of the former main room. During the next two meetings with the members of the Families Tara discovered that it did wonders for their manners and their choice of words that she had, hovering behind her right shoulder at all times, a man in black, reinforced leather armour who wore an eye patch that barely hid the scar on his face and who sported an SMG and a belt full of throwing knifes.

On their way up to the Presidential Suite after another exhausting meeting, Vincent leaned back against the elevator wall and gave her one of his rare, intense gazes. Tara lifted her eyebrows.

"You should watch your back around the gentleman in the chequered suit", he said. "Although I cannot imagine you aren't aware of his nature."  
"Benny? I am.", Tara replied with an unhappy chuckle. "But I do need him as head of the Chairmen, and as long as he needs me... well, we'll come to some sort of arrangement."  
"He seems to covet much more power than should rightfully be his."

This time, Tara laughed. He cocked an eyebrow at that, making Tara chuckle again. "That's putting it very politely, Vince. He's the one that started the whole shit by stealing the Platinum Chip in the first place. From the very beginning he wanted to be in the position that I now hold. He wanted to be the Master of New Vegas, and I've been a really big, annoying monkey wrench in his machinations ever since I failed to stay dead after he shot me in the head and even managed to get my hands on the chip again; although, to be honest, that was his own fault. In any case, he sees me as being in his rightful place, and I have no illusions that there's not going to be trouble about it sooner or later."

The elevator doors opened with a 'ding'.

"Trouble and twice trouble", Vincent said thoughtfully. "Clearly you do need a bodyguard for more than one reason."  
Tara gave him a smile. "The happier I am that I have the best I could imagine."  
Vincent crossed his arms and leaned back against the doorframe. "Flattery is entirely inappropriate."  
"I was merely stating the truth", Tara gave back, her smile weakening a little.  
"May I ask how many bodyguards you've had in your life so far, to make a comparison?"  
Tara's smile died. "None, all right, I get your point. But so far, against the odds, I've not died; that has to count for something, doesn't it?"  
The right corner of his mouth twitched. "Now that is indisputable."

Tara shook her head with another smile and suddenly, couldn't suppress a yawn. "Jesus, these council meetings are so tiresome." She arched her back. "And they give me headaches. All the fucking time."  
"Maybe you could ask the doctors at the Fort about stress relief."  
"Maybe." Tara headed for the kitchen. "I need a beer now. You up for one, too?"  
"I'm not, if it's all the same to you. I am tired as well and would rather go to bed."  
"By all means." Tara flashed him a tiny smile over her shoulder. "Good night, Vince."  
"Good night."

Tara slowly and laboriously sat down after equipping herself with a beer and propped her feet up on the table as she opened the bottle. Stress relief, indeed. And on the other hand, she didn't even want to imagine what would happen if she didn't keep her thumb on the Families all the time, especially the Chairmen. Her thumb on the Families, an eye on the slaves and her feet balancing precariously on the sharp edge of the fledgling diplomatic relations between New Vegas and the NCR.

Sometimes, she felt as if she was being torn apart from limb to limb, and wondered what was keeping her together. "Force of habit, most likely. Here's to the Winning of the War.", she muttered before saluting herself with her bottle and knocking it back.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x**_

The delicate affair of diplomatic bargaining began to solve itself, however, about two weeks into the new year. Tara received the news via a messenger boy from Freeside who announced excitedly that a rather large caravan was heading for the gates of Freeside. On top of everything else, they were sporting two banners, an NCR standard and the white flag of truce. The flags were, so the messenger boy, what had made the King alert her.

Tara wasted no time and hurried towards Freeside as fast as she could, Vincent jogging after her in his by now familiar calm indifference to anything.

They reached the Fort just as the gates opened and the caravan began streaming in. Tara counted at least a dozen pack brahmin and four carts, a flock of caravaneers and a large number of mercenaries, interspersing the rows of brahmin and carts in orderly pairs. It struck Tara as a little odd, but this was the most efficiently, almost militarily organised caravan she had ever seen. It looked more like a campaign than a simple trading caravan.

When Tara looked around she saw someone stand beside the cart on which the two flag poles had been mounted, and her first impression was of an odd familiarity. She took three steps towards the woman, for a woman it was, and when she turned her head, Tara suddenly recognised her.

"Cass!"  
Cass' head flew round and she stared at Tara for a few moments in utter puzzlement before Tara broke into a run and came storming towards her old friend. "Cass!"  
"Tara!" Cass dropped her gun into the cart and laughed. "It's fucking good to see you again!"  
Tara had reached her and the two women embraced heartily. "It's good to see you, too, Cass. Are you with the caravan?"  
Cass laughed again. "The fucking caravan's with me, kid. That's _my_ fucking caravan!"

Tara openly stared for a moment before rallying herself. "It's a step up from Cassidy's Caravan, to be sure."  
Still grinning madly, Cass' draped an arm around Tara's shoulders. "This, my dear courier girl, _is_ Cassidy's Caravan, reborn, so to speak. And I owe this all to you, you know. If we'd dealt with the Crimson Caravans the way I'd wanted to..." She let the sentence trail off, but Tara understood perfectly well what she was getting at.  
"I see", she said. "Congratulations, then. I'm really happy things worked out so well for you."  
Cass' eyes softened. "They did, didn't they. You brought me naught but luck, girl."

At that point Tara noticed Cass toying with a ring on the third finger of her right hand. She tilted her head, caught Cass' attention and when the other woman grinned again, Tara crossed her arms. "You married?"  
"I did. Yeah, I know, beats me why I fucking thought I'd need to be married off to someone, but... well..." She trailed off again and looked a little uncomfortable. "I guess you'd better know straightaway who I've married myself off to, girl. You know him, see?"  
"No", Tara said. "I don't, but I guess you'll enlighten me."  
"Well, he worked as a caravan guard for me, at first. But then... you know. Things happened."  
"No need to go into detail", Tara said with a laugh when Cass put her fingers into her mouth and emitted a shrieking whistle. A few of her guards looked up, then at each other, elbowed someone in the ribs when Cass waved and one of the men broke loose from their ranks and came trotting over.

When he came closer and Tara recognised him, her heart first skipped a beat and then seemed to shatter into tiny pieces.

She had never expected to see Craig Boone again, and seeing him now brought her as much joy as grief because as he was clearly still alive and in good health, he was also married again... and every hope she had ever nourished of him having any kind of feelings for her, other than loyalty or maybe friendship, finally crumbled to dust along with her momentarily high spirits in the blink of an eye.

He faltered when he spotted her and his look became slightly guarded. At one point, shortly after Coyote Tail Ridge, things had looked otherwise. Not that they had ended up in bed, they had kissed and little else. Nothing more had happened, and now nothing more would ever happen. Tara had known this, of course, but seeing him now so openly bound to another woman, one of her few real friends at that, hurt her nonetheless.

"Hi", he said when he reached them, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "How... uhm. How's it going?"  
Cass looked back and forth between the two. "Did you two have something going on when you were shooting legionaries into a bloody pulp?"  
"No", Tara said firmly and forced a smile onto her face. "I was just surprised, is all. I didn't expect to see either of you, much less the both of you."  
"Well, I tend to show up again like a bad habit", Cass smirked at her and Tara couldn't help but return that smile.

"Okay then. Do you... do you need a space to pitch your tents or suchlike?"  
"No", Cass gave back. "We planned on taking over the old Crimson Caravan compound, if it's all right with you. We'll have solid roofs and beds that way and a kind of embassy, too, 'cause I gather you'd rather not have the NCR invest itself right inside the city walls again just now."  
"I guess that'll be the perfect diplomatic solution", Tara replied, grateful for the change of topic. "Since you came under the flag of the NCR and all."  
"To be honest, we weren't too sure about what kind of welcome we'd get", Boone replied. "That's why we have so many mercs employed. But since we both know you we couldn't imagine you'd turned into someone who shoots first and asks questions later."  
"Better safe than sorry", Tara replied firmly. "Why don't you set yourself up in the new Cassidy's Caravan compound and we find time to chat later?"  
"Chat we will, although it might not be all pleasant", Boone said slowly. "We've got a few messages from the government. Diplomacy, the like."  
"They figured the best way to make first contact after they'd gotten their asses kicked was with our hands full of fucking glass beads and trinkets", Cass fell in. "First trade, then diplomacy. They'd rather risk a trader than an ambassador."

"But of course, we knew you", Boone added. "So we volunteered for the mission 'cause we knew you'd not be hostile. Or were pretty sure at least."  
Tara shook her head with a slight smile. "Still, it was pretty brave to make that journey. I hope things will turn out all right for all of us."  
"Pretty sure of that", Boone said and took Cass' hand, an absentminded gesture of affection that made Tara's stomach clench for a second.

"By the way, what about your man?", Cass asked then, thrusting out her chin into the general direction of Vincent who stood, as usual, about four feet behind her right shoulder.  
"Who", Tara said, following her glance. "Vince?"  
Cass nodded, a feisty grin on her face.  
"That's not my man, that's my bodyguard", Tara said.  
"You need a bodyguard?"  
"I'd rather not find out the hard way if I really do", Tara said. "But Vince has already saved my hide one time and afterwards I thought it a good idea to keep him around."  
"Good on him", Cass said and tipped the brim of her hat at him. Vincent acknowledged that gesture with a slight incline of his head.  
"But no man?", Cass prodded again.  
"Cass, I don't have time for that kind of dicking around" Tara snapped back, slightly riled. "I've had my hands full during the last few months keeping everyone from each other's throat, making former rivals work together, making the place safe and establishing supply routes and something resembling an economy. Did you notice the farms?"  
"We did", Cass said, sounding properly impressed. "And I admit it's fucking amazing what you have achieved so far."  
"Well." Tara crossed her arms. "It was a piece of hard work, I'll say that much."  
"Doubtlessly." Boone gave her an admiring look. "Good work."

Tara managed another smile, although this time it cost some effort. They would never know how many hours of sleep this had cost her, how many hours she had spent worrying herself half to death, breaking her head in two to find solutions, tearing her legs out to find the resources to make it possible.

When she watched them head for the gates again, hand in hand, _their_ only worry the management of a trade caravan, she was hit by a fit of jealousy so burning hot that it made her gasp. She caught the gasp in her throat and shook her head, trying so hard to remain outwardly calm that she failed to notice the ever so slightly worried, thoughtful look that Vincent was giving her.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: While publishing this on the Meme, I recieved some really lovely and amazing fanart for this (on my birthday, no less. Fate, fate.) Find it on deviant art:

http:/channet(.)deviantart(.)com/art/Courier-and-Vulpes-Inculta-274553225

(remove parantheses)

* * *

The next few days were filled with several council meetings with everyone's nerves in the end being practically rubbed raw in the true sense of the word; but it resulted in everyone agreeing, at long last, that the NCR should have an embassy again, outside of Freeside and in the former Crimson Caravan compound.

Tare decided to deliver the good news to Cass herself instead of relaying it via messenger, even if that meant confronting her hurt feelings again. On her way there Tara was brooding over this and came to the conclusion that she was doing it on purpose, this confronting her feelings, a bit like lancing an abscess. It was ugly and hurt, but afterwards, the wound could heal.

Cass, of course, was overjoyed to hear the news as she and her caravan hadn't really dared to properly settle in yet, aware of the fact that they might have to pack up and leave any minute, and maybe in great haste, to boot. She invited Tara to the celebration she had been planning just in case but also been cautious about looking forward to, but Tara declined. She was tired to the bone; and while she might have willingly confronted a married Boone, having a party with him was out of question.

Despite her tiredness, however, she was unable to find rest that night, partly because her mind didn't find a moment's peace between brooding over politics, diplomacy and hurt feelings, partly because of the heat. The air conditioning in the ancient casino wasn't the most reliable of installations and presently wasn't working properly.

She was just about to doze off when she heard Vincent's scream. It was a hoarse, choked cry of terror and pain both, and with a racing heart she shot upright, her stomach clenching and her hands moist. Moments later she heard the bathroom door and slowly got out of bed, unsure if it was a good idea but feeling the need to try and do something for him.

Vincent was in the bathroom leaning over a sink and washing his face and Tara could see rivulets of sweat running down his whole body because he was only wearing his pants. What she also couldn't fail but see were all the scars: a faint web of silvery lines criss-crossing his back that hinted strongly at a long ago flogging, and all the other, new ones that always gave her gooseflesh whenever she saw them, especially the marks where someone had torn the skin of his chest in several long strips and the puckered welts of scar tissue that had once been his nipples.

She leaned into the doorframe and crossed her arms. "Nightmares again?"  
Vincent looked up after drying his face. He just nodded and looked away again, seemingly ashamed about them. "Did I wake you up?"  
"No. I couldn't sleep."  
"Too much on your mind?"  
She smiled thinly. "That, and the heat. Fancy a drink in the cocktail lounge? We can at least open a window there."  
"I think tonight, I can't but agree. Let me get my shirt."

Dressed only in underwear and sitting right below a wide open window made the suppressive heat of the building bearable, with the cold desert night providing them with crisp, fresh air.

"I really have to find some mechanic or whomever who can have a look at the air conditioning."  
"Wouldn't that imply sending someone down to the maintenance level?", Vincent inquired.  
"House's tomb..." Tara took a sip of her beer. "It would. But then... No one would have to go where the... pod... or whatever it is called, is. I just have to make sure of that, and I think I'll cover that thing up, somehow."  
Vincent leaned forward, bottle clasped between his knees. "Why are you so worried of somebody learning about Mr House?"

Tara pressed her lips together. "Because of the leadership", she said after a while. "I think... no, I know people have to believe in House having been a normal human being. A man, passing on his leadership to me. That I killed him is not of great consequence to them since that is just another way of passing power on. What _would_ be is that if they found out House wasn't much more than a machine, and I took over Vegas from a machine..." She took a sip of beer and shrugged. "They might get it into their heads that if a machine was running Vegas for so long, they could, too. As it is..."  
"As it is, however, they believe that only superhuman effort made him what they believe him to have been, and do not fancy that kind of effort themselves", Vincent finished for her.  
"Or so I can hope." Tara leaned back. "Most of them, at least."  
"You talk about the Chairmen again?"  
"Their leader, mostly. Sometimes I think I should have killed him the day I found him."  
"Why didn't you, if it is not too bold to ask?" Vincent took a sip of his own beer and leaned back as well and crossed his legs, resting the right foot leisurely on the left knee.  
"I honestly thought that any bloodshed avoided was a victory in itself." She shrugged. "I have been proven wrong on that account on more than one occasion."  
"Maybe you should correct that mistake."  
Tara looked up sharply and with narrowed eyes. "Don't you dare..."  
Vincent held up one hand, a tiny smirk on his face. "I assure you I won't kill anyone without you giving me the order first."  
"Good." Tara took a sip of beer. "As tempting as it is."  
"In the end, you might do not only yourself but the whole... what did the doctor call it? The Big Dream? ... a favour."  
"That's what's tempting me." Tara flashed him an unhappy grin.

Vincent in turn shrugged. "Would you have come to the power you now hold without a streak of ruthlessness in employing the securitrons to win the battle at Hoover Dam?"  
Tara fell silent and stared at her bottle. Finally, she sighed and looked up again. "I think I know what you're trying to tell me. You won't be able to gain power without the ability for ruthlessness, and you can't command it for any length of time without on occasion resorting to ruthlessness as well."  
"I couldn't have put it into better words."  
Shaking her head Tara fell back into the cushions and sighed. "I have trouble with being ruthless, you know."  
"I gathered as much."  
Tara looked at him from the corners of her eyes, but he seemed to be sincere and not mocking her.

Mulling over this, Tara sipped her beer in silence while carefully watching Vincent, gladly picking up on every distraction from worrying over present problems that her brain provided her.

He might have been handsome before his injuries, but the broken jaw, the broken nose and the scar through the empty eye socket had roughed him up considerably. And while he couldn't remember most of his past, he wasn't a completely blank page, either. His fighting skills, for an instance, were impressive, his unnerving observance and his ability to stand stock still at her side for hours without moving a muscle as well. Arcade and Julie had tried to explain to her about conscious and unconscious memories, and the memory loss only seemed to concern the former, while the latter, all the ingrained knowledge, was still present. It seemed strange to her that the brain could be specific about forgetting some things and remembering others, and all because of severe trauma, or so Julie had said.

She tried not to think too much about that trauma, though, when she could avoid it. Beating, torture, rape, emasculation... it really was a miracle he had survived. And even a greater miracle that he was still sane. If he was. Maybe that was it, then.  
Rather switch the memories off completely and remain sane than remember and go to pieces. Her stomach clenched in ice-cold hurt for a second when she suddenly realised, at this point, that he might well go insane after all if he should ever remember.

Vincent leaned forward, obviously having noticed her flinching. He raised his eyebrows and Tara tried to calm her nerves with a big gulp of air.  
"I just thought... I was thinking about you, and what has happened to you... and what would happen to you if you'd remember."  
He pressed his lips together for a moment before answering. "Not a pleasant prospect, no." He stared at his bottle, twirling it between his fingers. "To be honest, I don't really want to remember, either, although that is a coward's way of thinking."  
"I couldn't hold it against you." Tara's voice was low and serene.  
Vincent looked up at that, met her eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched. "My thanks. I find myself holding it against me, though."  
"No doubt you've been brought up harshly, drilled into facing any enemy, no matter how strong or overwhelming. Facing your inner demons must have been part of that."  
Staring thoughtfully ahead, Vincent crossed his arms and leaned back. "Maybe. But, if I may use your metaphor as well, these demons won't let me face them. They torment me while I am asleep and as soon as I wake up they are gone, taking every memory with them. I cannot remember a single thing of my dreams the moment I wake up, apart from the terror they leave me in." His jaw worked and the sinews in his neck twitched. "I am fighting shadows."

Tara stared ahead as well, out of the window and at the far away mountains. "I've always wanted to remember, you know. I was able to piece together what happened to me after I got the chip to deliver, but everything before..." She shrugged. "I have no clue who I was, apart from the fact that I used to work for the Mojave express. I never found anyone who knew me in my former life. But you know... by now I think if I remembered, I'd be someone else, and I don't want to be someone else, I want to be me..." When she looked at Vincent again, she found him looking at her intensely. "Does that make sense?"  
"To me, it does", he replied after a moment. "I keep thinking about what will happen to me if I remember. You have your place, your position, but me? If I remember, what good will it do? From what little I've learned, I know everything that was part of my former life is gone. And thinking about what I know... I do wonder what kind of man I was."

Since she didn't know what to reply to this, Tara kept her silence and just shrugged a little helplessly. Vincent in turn still stared straight ahead, a deep frown on his forehead.

They remained like that, both lost in their own thoughts and the silence around them only occasionally punctuated by a sound drifting upward from the strip, a loud laugh, the shattering of a glass bottle, a barking dog. Eventually Tara felt her eyes grow heavy and pulled her legs up, leaning back into the couch and dropping her head on the armrest. Her last thought was that she'd rather not dream about Boone before her eyes fluttered close and she drifted off.

When she opened her eyes again she realised that the sun was already rising. Vincent was still sitting where he had sat when she had dozed off, his legs still crossed, his head resting against the back of the couch. Then she realised that she had been covered with a thin cotton blanket. When she moved, however, Vincent's head jerked up and he shot her a glance. To judge by the smudges under his eyes he hadn't slept at all that night.

"Thanks for the blanket", she muttered and sat up.  
"You're welcome," Vincent replied without looking at her.  
Yawning and stretching, Tara peeled herself off the couch. "I can't tell you how much I'd love to bury myself with a book or two in the lounge today, but I need to speak to Cass and the Followers."

Vincent just nodded and stood up, as well. For a moment there, as Tara watched him, he looked so tired and drained as if he was a man three times his age, then he shook his head like a wet dog and straightened up to head for the elevator in his usual straight-backed, forceful stride. To Tara, it seemed as if he had slammed steel armour around his soul, and for a second, she envied him as much as she pitied him.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Latin... *sigh* Had to fall back on an online dictionary and long buried memories from my school-time which was roughly twenty years ago. So please don't laugh at me. Apart from that, there's a PotC reference hidden in there.

* * *

When Tara entered Freeside somewhat later that morning she was hailed by one of the Kings who had been on the way to relate to her a message from their leader. Remembering that the five rapists the securitrons had gathered up in the alley where Vincent had dropped them had been rotting in the King's cellar for more than two weeks now, Tara postponed her talk with Cass.

"It's about them five bastards what are locked up in our basement", the King said. "Now don't you go and believe I did other than threaten the thugs, but they did tell me some interesting things at last. I gather they're fed up with sitting in the basement and would rather be shot and have it over with."  
Tara crossed her arms. "I'm all ears."  
The King smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. "You won't like this."  
"I didn't expect I would."

The King folded his hands. "They told me that they were paid to do it."

Tara had the strange feeling she hadn't heard correctly. "They... what?"  
"They said they had been hired for the job", the King repeated, and Tara could see barely concealed anger smoulder in his eyes. "Said it was someone with a strange... uhm... kink. They were supposed to record the deeds on holotapes. We couldn't get any more information out of them, however."

Tara felt as if someone had slapped her with a frying pan. "You're kidding me", was all she managed after a minute.  
The King shook his head and laid a small, black and rectangular item onto the table. Tara didn't have to look any closer to know what it was.  
"Did you watch it?"  
Shaking his head again the King pushed the tape across the table towards her. "We don't have no device to do so", he said. "Can't say I regret it much."

Tara took the tape as if it was a dead rat and pressed her lips together. "So it's up to me to find out..." She swallowed. "Can't say I fancy it."

"Can't say I fancy it much, either", the King replied. "But if we wanna do this right, then there should be more people than you witnessing it. I'll send one of the boys over to the Fort."  
"Thanks", Tara said, somehow cruelly relieved she wouldn't have to do this alone. "If you would, send someone to the Tops too, to fetch Benny."  
"Why Benny?"  
Tara flashed him a bitter smile. "Because he's the one man of all the Families that's going to be the least bothered by this."  
"Got it."

It took less than half an hour to assemble the necessary witnesses, none of them, understandably, too happy about that particular duty.

With a deep sigh, Tara inserted the tape into the slot of her pip boy and wished she could just close her eyes. The people standing around her grew very still as the recording played on the little screen, the room going entirely silent as Tara remembered to mute the recording just in time. It seemed outright surreal that the little, blurry image in shades of amber on her wrist depicted the brutal gangrape and gory death of three innocent girls. A few minutes into the last recording the image flickered and went out. Someone retched.

"That last one", Tara said hoarsely. "That should have been me. Only..."  
"Only you had a rescuer coming for you in time", Arcade finished for her.  
Tara nodded and everyone but her looked at Vincent who, as usual, seemed completely unfazed by both the recordings and the looks he was given now.

"And what..." Benny tugged at his collar. "What are we going to do with that now? And why did we have to... watch it?"  
"Because now we can put that thing safely away as proof", Tara said as she removed the tape from her pip boy. "With five people having witnessed it there's no need for anyone to ever watch this again."  
"Proof? What do we need this for as proof when your bodyguard caught them red-handed?"  
Tara looked at Benny and shrugged. "If someone paid them to commit -this- and record it, then we better find that someone quickly before he decides on a second attempt, no?"  
Benny gave her a bland stare, then snapped his mouth shut and nodded. "Right."

The assembly descended the stairs into the King's basement to confront the rapists about the tape, but no matter what they said or asked, none of them would say a word more about it. However, they seemed more frightened than stubborn, as if they had more reason to fear the man who had set them up to this than Tara or anyone in Vegas.

"Tara?"  
Tara turned around to look at Vincent, slightly puzzled. He rarely addressed her publicly without being spoken to first so she wasn't really used to it. "Yes?"  
"May I try?"  
"Well... by all means. I won't have you physically harm them, though."  
Vincent lifted his eyebrows, then shrugged dismissively and went down into the basement again.

Tara and the others settled down again in the King's, for want of a better word, reception chamber and watched, more or less interested, another performance on the stage. A good twenty minutes passed before Vincent walked in again and came to halt beside Tara.

"They do not know the man who recruited and paid them", he said. "He was a middle man himself, which is all they know. What is interesting, however, is that they were supposed to give the tape as a sealed package to the next caravan heading back to..." He made a significant pause. "...the NCR." His expression bordered on an ever so tiny yet very smug smile. "But the most interesting bit was that the purchaser had specifically requested a... 'Performance by the Courier'."  
A stunned silence followed his words. "How..." Tara ran a hand through her hair, her hands trembling beyond her means to control them.  
"Here", the King said. "How did you... you didn't torture the prisoners, did you?"  
Vincent crossed his arms. "Of course not", he said levelly. "You can go down and convince yourself."

A long silence followed this last exchange before Arcade took off his glasses, rubbed a hand across his eyes and said, as he put them back on: "That caravan... that's Cassidy's, isn't it?"  
"There's no other caravan here that would go back to the NCR at any given point", Tara replied thoughtfully. "If so..." Her frown deepened. "If so, then Cass must know where the parcel was to be delivered if these thugs don't."  
"You'd best speak to her straightaway", the King said.  
"I was on my way to her anyway before your messenger caught up with me", Tara gave back and got up. "I thank you all for attending me in this matter. Please... keep this to yourself as of yet. And..." She looked at the disc, then at the King. "Can I ask you to take care of this?"  
"I have a good safe with only me knowing the combination", the King replied. "In my bedroom which is guarded at all times. It's going to be safe there."  
"Good. Thanks. I'll be seeing you."

On their way towards the northern gate Tara cast a cautious look at Vincent over her shoulder. He caught her glance and lifted his eyebrows. Tara halted and crossed her arms.  
"What did you do to them?"  
"Nothing", Vincent replied. "I didn't even touch them. I was merely being... suggestive."  
Tara looked at him, his calm face that made it impossible to tell what was going on behind it and the calm stare of his eye that was so inanimate it was unsettling at times. Finally Tara shrugged and decided she'd rather not know. She turned around again and sighed. "Let's go."

When they reached the caravan compound however Cassidy was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Cass?"  
Boone shrugged. "She's off somewhere. Looking for her old still, she said."  
"I don't believe this", Tara said with a groan. "Do you know how long she'll be away?"  
"No."  
"Well that's not very helpful."  
Boone looked up and narrowed his eyes. "What do you expect? I don't know where she is and I don't know when she'll be back, what else am I gonna tell you?"  
"All right, I get it", Tara almost snapped back. "Sorry... I've... I've just got some really unpleasant news and I'm rubbed a little raw."  
"Fine."

When Tara left she suddenly wondered how Cass could put up with this man day after day. And with that wondering came another, namely how on earth she herself could have fallen for this basket case of a man in the first place.  
She had no explanation other than that he had been the first strong, protective guy she had met and that she had simply latched on to him out of desperation in her fear and loneliness after what had happened to her.

When her eyes fell on Vincent at that moment, the silent, taciturn and withdrawn man with his distant look and his unreadable face, she suddenly realised that she seemed to have replaced one tight-lipped watchdog with the other. The thought almost made her smile.

On her way back through Freeside she checked in at the Fort and realised that, after the demolition of another wrecked house and with the work of a large group of former slaves and volunteers, the Followers had begun to replace their shabby tents with brick houses. She could see the foundations of one large and two smaller buildings laid out against the far wall.

Julie was, understandably, very excited about raising a proper Hospital. "The large one is for the beds", she said. "And the two smaller ones are going to be operating rooms. I can hardly wait... having an environment you can actually sterilise instead of a tent with a dirt floor... this will make preventing infection so much easier." Yet her face suddenly clouded over despite the good news.  
Tara tilted her head and gave her a questioning look, but did not want to pry.  
Julie shrugged. "It's Arcade", she said softly. "He... he lost a patient last night. It wasn't his fault, no one could have saved them... but I don't know. This one has brought him to his knees."  
Tara felt her heart clench at the thought of the good-natured doctor. "What happened?"  
"It was a woman here from Freeside. She was pregnant, but not due for another month or so. She came in with bleeding and contractions. Arcade has been in charge of her from the beginning of her pregnancy and he... we really tried. In the end, we attempted a caesarean to at least save the baby, but..." Julie swallowed. "The baby was already dead, as well. He's... he's not taking this well."

At a loss for words, Tara stared at her feet, but when she looked up again she saw Julie look past her with a frown. "Tara, can you check that commotion out there? It looks like someone is about to start a brawl, and I'd really rather spare our resources for more important cases."  
"I got you", Tara said, glad to escape the suffocating reality of a makeshift hospital in a recently pacified zone of war.  
Vincent fell in behind her, his face as calm as usual, but he unclasped the holster of his gun.  
"I'd rather you didn't shoot anyone", Tara said.  
"A warning shot may be all it needs."  
"I hope you're right."

When they reached the group of people, however, the waves had already calmed. Whatever had brought the group of men up against each other seemed to have been settled although they still glared at each other. Someone shook a fist, and another flipped him a bird. Nothing worse happened.  
Not considering a brawl that hadn't gone anywhere worth the effort of finding out what had caused it, as that well might stir up minds again, Tara left the people to their work. Presently that consisted of clearing away a large heap of broken bricks, stones, pieces of masonry and smaller rubble, stuff that couldn't be used for construction and that the brahmins would cart outside towards the growing city wall.

Tara and Vincent were just about to walk away when the heap behind them shifted with a trickle of rubble. A woman screamed.

"Tom! Davy! Get away from there!

Tara spun around and saw two small boys playing at the foot of the rubble heap, using little pieces of mortar as marbles, completely oblivious of the danger they were in. Another trickle of pebbles rained down from the heap and someone on the other side shouted a warning.

The woman sounded almost hysteric and finally one of the boys looked up at his mother running towards him. She was too far away however to be able to do anything, and even as Tara realised with a cold dread that she was about to watch the boys die, Vincent suddenly broke into a sprint.

He was at the boys' side within seconds, grabbed each of them under one arm and set off again as behind him the heap collapsed and a landslide of bricks, mortar and stones descended on the three. The boys' mother had reached Tara's side and both of them stared at Vincent who, in a desperate attempt to save the kids, just tossed them away from him as hard as he could so they bobbed and rolled along the hard packed dirt like rag dolls as the landslide caught up with Vincent and swallowed him.

Everyone on the scene stood frozen when the landslide came to a halt, but the woman beside Tara was the first to unfreeze herself, she hiked up her skirts again and hurried towards her two children who were howling like banshees; a little scratched and battered, but still alive and mostly unharmed.

A few of the workers rallied themselves as well and ran around the heap, and a few others hurried over to help them, their earlier differences forgotten. As the mother hugged the two boys to her chest, wiping the tears off their faces with a corner of her skirt and trying to calm them with soothing words, the men began to dig with their hands, refraining from using picks or shovels to avoid risking further injury to the buried man.  
Tara took a few steps forward when two of the men took Vincent by his arms and shoulders and hauled him out of the rubble, and she could have wept in relief when she heard him moan and cough. The two men slung their arms under Vincent's shoulders, crossing them at his back and half dragged, half carried him to the Fort where Julie already stood with a doctor's bag as she also had helplessly witnessed the whole near-tragedy.

One of the men broke free from the group of workers and hurried over to the sitting woman, knelt beside her and slung his arms around all three of them before helping her up and taking one of the boys in his arms to carry him while the mother carried the other.

Arcade joined them then; he had heard the commotion and while he was pale after a sleepless night he seemed a little more composed now that he had something to occupy his mind. He eyed Vincent, who was stained ash-grey from the dust with bright crimson patches where his skin had been scraped off, and made the men dragging him along sit him on a bench as he had regained full consciousness and even his balance. He swayed a little after sitting down, but presently, they had no free beds.

While Arcade treated Vincent, Julie checked on the boys and only had to clean out a few scrapes. The boys were, while a little timid, already nibbling on some bread given to them by a nurse in training and seemed unaware of how great a danger they had been in. Considering their age, roughly three and five, it wasn't really surprising.

Arcade in turn had to wash Vincent's hand and his face, but Vincent was staring at his bleeding knuckles with a very odd expression, his eye a little glassed over, his mouth slack. Arcade knelt down before him, trying to make eye contact. "Vincent?"  
He showed no reaction.  
"Vincent", Arcade tried again, patting his forearm. "Vincent, look at me."  
Vincent muttered something. Arcade leaned forward, straining his hears.  
"_Cruor_", Vincent said again, his voice strangely hoarse as he stared at the blood dripping from his knuckles.  
"What?" Tara knelt down beside Arcade. "What is he saying?" A shiver crept down her spine at the sound of his voice.  
"_Signum cruentum adveherunt bellatorem sanguinariem..."_  
"Blood", Arcade translated in a low voice. "The... or a... blood red sign or banner, carried, by... blood thirsty fighters... or warriors...?"  
"What kind of nonsense is that?"  
"I have no..."  
"The Legionary!" Both of them flinched as the man sitting next to the boys' mother suddenly jumped up as if he had been stung by a rad scorpion. It was at that point that Tara recognised him as the leader of the mob that had wanted to lynch Vincent. "The god damned fucking legionary!"

"What? Calm down..." Tara got up, as did Arcade, but the man was already at Vincent's side, pulling a pistol.  
"Time to meet your precious gods of war, you swine!"

Vincent, however, only very slowly lifted his head, his untreated wounds still bleeding with a fine trickle of dark red running down his temple and drying on his cheek. With a mildly puzzled frown he looked into the muzzle of the gun pointing at his face and calmly looked further up at the man in whose trembling hand the gun was being cocked.

"Don't you dare!" Tara grabbed the man's fist and tore the weapon upward as the shot fell, and the bullet vanished harmlessly over the walls of the Fort.

"That's a fine way to repay the man who saved your children's life!", she snapped at the man. "I can't believe..."  
"You? You dare to speak to me of belief with taking that... that monster into our..."  
"Hold your breath", Tara shot back, bristling with fury. "I'll tell you this only once..."  
"Please." It was so softly spoken that it took both Tara and the enraged Freesider a second to realize that the boys' mother had walked over to their side. "George."

The man faltered and snorted, but slowly crossed his arms; the pistol still in his hands, however.

"George", the woman said again. "Please. She's right, and you know it. He saved the life of your boys, how can you want to shoot him for that?"  
George snorted again, sounding like an angry brahmin. "You know what kind of men the Legion breeds, Sarah. One good deed can't absolve a man from a lifetime of evil."  
Vincent, shaken out of his strange trance by the shot, chose that moment to join the conversation. "But it seems enough to condemn him."  
"George..." His woman laid a hand on her husband's arm.

No one moved.

Both men stared at each other in a heavy, charged silence before George snorted a third time, holstered his weapon and turned on his heel. "For now, Legionary, others won't be so forgiving!", he yelled over his shoulder before vanishing through the gates.  
Tara let her breath escape in a huff, Arcade wiped his hands down his face and Julie allowed herself a little shudder.  
"There's going to be all sorts of trouble about this... your bodyguard, I mean", Arcade said slowly.  
Tara was about to reply when the woman beside her lifted one hand. "Not as long as me, my sister or my mother have anything to say about it. My husband may be blinded by hate, but I'm not. I can't say I'm happy about a legionary living here, but..." She bit her lower lip and then knelt down in front of Vincent, taking one of his bloodied hands in both of hers while he stared at her with a blank face. "You saved the life of my sons today, risking your own." Her voice was low and earnest. "Whatever else you might have done doesn't matter to me. You saved my children, and for that you'll have my undying gratitude." With that, she placed a kiss onto Vincent's bleeding knuckles, got up, dusted off her skirt and called her children over.

She made both boys mutter out a thanks and, after picking the younger one up and placing him on her hip, took the elder by the hand and walked out of the Fort with her head held high and her back straight, like a queen out of a pre-war book.

After a few moments that everyone needed to digest what they had just witnessed, Arcade picked up a bottle of disinfectant and a rag. "Let me add my thanks to the mother's. Without you, those kids would've died under that landslide."  
"I survived", Vincent gave back.  
Arcade gave him a somewhat tired smile. "You're a grown man, you are wearing reinforced leather and you are obviously as tough as a coffin nail. They boys would have been crushed." Then he took one of Vincent's hands in his. "I'd better get to work on this before it clots up completely", he said after a deep breath. "This will sting."  
"I've had worse", Vincent replied flatly, still staring at the gates through which the woman had vanished, and watching him, Tara realised that for the first time since she had known him, he seemed well and truly shaken.


	12. Chapter 12

A little later on, when Tara was just equipping Vincent with a hot cup of mesquite tea to steady him as the adrenaline and shock began to wear off, a few of the Kings appeared at the Fort, flanking their leader who, like them, was armed with a .356 magnum revolver this time.

"We heard the news", the King said to Tara and cast a long look at Vincent sitting on the bench and clutching his cup while looking at nothing. "A good thing about those boys, and glad he made it, too. I came to make sure you get home safely, seems like your bodyguard is a little impaired right now."  
"I thank you for the offer", Tara replied, managing a smile. "And I'll gladly take you up on it."

They waited until Julie had administered another carefully measured dose of Med-X to Vincent and set off at a slow pace. Vince however was pale and more worked over than they had thought; he barely made it to the gate before his legs threatened to give way under him. He would have hit the ground ungainly and hard if the King himself hadn't jumped to his side to slip an arm under his shoulders at the very last moment, and he shot the two of his associates closest to Vincent a venomous look.

"This man saved the life of Rob's cousins, you useless pricks, and you got nothing better to do than let him fall facedown into the dirt?"  
The two guys had the decency to look abashed and, shamed by their boss, took their turns in supporting Vincent the rest of the way. The King straightened his collar as he watched them with a tired, angry shake of his head. Then he gallantly slipped an arm through Tara's and with another four men trailing after, they made their way to the Lucky38 safely enough.

"Thanks", Tara whispered as they passed the gate to the Strip. "Not only for the escort, I mean."  
The King smiled crookedly down at her. "That man may be a criminal of war, a devil or a fiend, but he's your man now, and he saved the life of two children today. There's lawful, Tara, and then there's right. It's not always necessarily the same."

Tara couldn't help but give him an admiring look. And when she looked over her shoulder and watched the four men in black leather jackets with their revolvers trail after them, she suddenly realised that here was the man she needed to ask for help in establishing some sort of police force. They were here already, all they needed was to be set up on the job. At the doors of the casino she turned to the King again. "Can you come and see me, say... day after tomorrow? Any time you see fit. I'll be here if nothing explodes or collapses."  
"I'll be seeing you", the King said, bowed over her hand and ushered his men together as Tara and Vincent entered the casino floor.

Once inside the elevator, Vincent fell heavily against the wall.  
"Are you going to faint?"  
He didn't open his eyes. "Presently, I cannot guarantee that I won't."  
"Just around one more corner." She absentmindedly patted his shoulder, and the ghost of a smile flickered over his face for a second.

He made it as far as his bed onto which he collapsed with a relieved groan, and Tara went to the kitchen to equip herself with a couple of beers. She needed a drink and he probably did so as well.

Yet when she entered the bedroom in which he resided she found him already asleep, still wearing armour, boots and weapons. With a frown, she set the bottles onto a table and walked over to him. She would have liked to let him sleep, but she knew that come morning, he would be so sore and stiff that it would be torturous to get that armour off him, so it needed to come off now. She gently took him by the shoulders and shook him.

"Vince."  
No reaction.  
"Vincent!"  
He shot upright and how the fuck he'd done it Tara hadn't a clue, but he was holding a knife to her throat.  
"Whoa!"  
He blinked and pulled the knife back. "What..."  
"Nothing! I just wanted to wake you up to get you out of that armour! You'll be as stiff as a short plank tomorrow otherwise.", she added in a calmer voice.  
"You're right", Vincent replied levelly and the knife vanished without her being able to trace it. Tara wasn't even sure he had done it consciously.

He was already stiff and hurting so Tara knelt before him to help him out of his boots.  
"Leave that be", he said tight-lipped. "This is degrading."  
"For you, or for me?", Tara asked, a trace of amusement in her voice.  
"For you", was the reply, even more uncomfortable than the statement before, yet Tara couldn't help but laugh.  
"Who do you think I am? Or what, for that matter. Now stop that bullshit and let me help you."

He didn't seem any less uncomfortable, but he let her pull off his boots. She also unbuckled the straps on his armour and pulled it off him, assistance he couldn't help but be grateful for as his back and shoulders were hurting as if on fire.

Having peeled himself out of his leather trousers he collapsed back onto the bed and gladly accepted the beer Tara offered him, draining half the bottle in the first draught. Tara could see a fine collection of bruises of many different shades on his arms and legs and could imagine his back looking no better.  
"You're doubtlessly going to be sore as sore tomorrow", she said softly. "Just take it easy. I'll not be going anywhere unless someone convinces me that without me, the world will come to an end. And if that happens, the King will send me a few of his boys. He already said so, so you'll get all the time you need to get up to speed again."  
"That is a very generous offer", Vincent replied and closed his eye. "And tempted though as I am to tell you not to worry, I can only admit you're right."  
"I bet you can feel every single bone in your body complain."  
He opened the eye again but only looked at the ceiling.

"Vincent?", Tara asked after a while.  
"Yes."  
"I didn't thank you yet."  
"What for?"  
"For saving the children."  
A tired snort escaped him. "Don't you think I've had enough praise for that one deed for today?"  
"I don't know what enough is in that case. Anyway, I just thought..." She leaned over him and put her hand on his. He narrowed his eye, but left his hand where it was, for the moment.

"We need every bit of good will these people can bear you", Tara went on earnestly. "I was hoping to find a way to work them round into... well, maybe not accepting you, but at least tolerate you so I wouldn't have to worry about you being lynched should I turn my back on you. But today... today you've provided me with the best leverage I could have wished for."  
He slowly blinked a few times before a tiny, hesitating smile crept over his face. "I see."  
"They don't know you've lost your memories, and so they are going to think that you're explicitly trying to redeem yourself by being a good man from now on despite your background. It's best to leave them believing that. Best for us, in any case."  
Vincent nodded.

They fell silent for a while, both lost in thought, until Tara suddenly realised she was still holding Vincent's hand. If he was aware of this or not he didn't let on, but since she couldn't remove her hand inconspicuously, she just took it away. He showed no reaction whatsoever and for a second, Tara wasn't sure if she was annoyed or... or what?

She pushed that thought aside because she had other, more important matters on her mind and, giving in to the last impulse of fussing over him, pulled his blanket up and over him before getting off the bed.

He cast her a strange look under a lowered eyelid, but didn't comment on it. Tara in turn just switched off the light. "Wish you a good night, or as good as it can get, anyway."  
"The same to you."

_**x-x-x-x-x-x**_

As expected, Vincent was hardly able to move the next day. But since neither him nor Tara could stand being shut up in the windowless suite for the whole day she helped him along into the elevator and then into the cocktail lounge where they made themselves comfortable with Tara badgering him into the unheard-of luxury of lying down on the couch instead of barely sitting on it.

The penthouse suite still stood empty, and while Tara planned on moving in there at one point she had more important things to organize and use her manpower on than refurbishing the suite and dismantling those ghastly screens.

Since Tara had discovered during the evening before that the matter of the prisoners wouldn't let her rest, she decided to broach the subject with Vincent, after all. Equipped with a beer she settled down on the sofa opposite him and took a sip.

"Vincent?"  
He lifted his head and looked at her.  
"I need to ask after all. About the prisoners, I mean. You said you were being suggestive... but what did you actually do?"  
Vincent lifted his eyebrows and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "I figured there was nothing I could really threaten them with as they were aware of your notions and politics and didn't believe you would have them tortured, no matter what."  
Tara leaned forward, nodding at him to go on.  
"So what I did was explain to them, in very simple words, what you have achieved, and how much these achievements have cost you, asking them if they could imagine you letting everything fall to ruin. Asking them, simply, what they thought you would or would not do to keep what you have fought so hard for to achieve."

Tara waited for a moment longer, then realised that there wasn't more to come. "So... that was it?"  
Vincent flashed her a predatory, little smile. "Never underestimate the imaginative powers of a fearful mind."  
Finding nothing to add to this Tara busied herself with her beer for a while before Vincent interrupted her train of thoughts.

"You are aware that you will have to execute them?"  
Tara's head jerked up at its own accord. "I will... what?"  
"Will you keep them in that basement and feed them until they die of old age?" He pushed himself upward into a more upright position. "Do you have nothing else to do with your precious resources than feed a bunch of rapists and murderers?"  
She was about to snap something contradictory but realised he was right, so she shut her mouth again and gave Vincent a wary look.

He, in turn, just mustered her as if she was a puzzle to figure out. "Are you not aware that the people in Freeside are already demanding their blood?"  
Tara almost dropped her bottle. "What?"  
Shaking his head, Vincent pushed himself up more and sat up. "You need to know what is going on behind your back, Tara", he said slowly. "Surprises like these will jeopardize your whole... mission."  
"I know", Tara gave back. "I just didn't... how do you know that, anyway? Where did you..."  
"By keeping my eyes and ears open and my mind focussed", Vincent replied flatly. "And if you didn't know about the Freesiders grumbling over having to feed murderers you might not know that on the Strip, people are complaining about having all that excess free labour living outside the city walls and no permission to use it."

Tara had to set her bottle down and forced her trembling fingers into an untidy knot. "Holy shit... the slaves, isn't it? The Families can't stand it, knowing that there's former slaves who would do everything they tell them to because they know nothing else. Where... where did you pick that up?"  
"Here and there", Vincent gave back. "A word here, a gesture at some of your words there. No one outright mentioned it, but to a keen observer, the hints fit together."  
"I'm a little surprised that people would mention anything about that topic, and you within hearing range."  
The smile under a lowered eyelid was a little reptilian. "The invisibility of the servant. It is astonishing how people will treat someone who does not speak as someone who cannot hear."  
"It's a very thoughtless kind of arrogance", Tara said and slowly unwound her fingers. "And that you... Well, you're certainly a very useful bodyguard to have around. I'm beginning to suspect, though, what your position in the Legion might have been."  
Vincent raised his eyebrows.  
"Does the term Frumentarii mean anything to you?" Yet even as she spoke, she saw a strange surprise flicker across his face. "I thought so. Spies and infiltrators."  
"It would make sense." Vincent stared at his hands with a deeply furrowed brow. "Does that mean my memories are beginning to return?"  
"I don't know", Tara gave back cautiously. "But the hints are there."

Vincent shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"But it could also mean nothing. It could mean nothing more, at least, than that there are certain phrases and words you'd remember, like you remember your skills in fighting or... uhm... interrogating."  
"Maybe." He didn't sound overly convinced, though.  
Tara pushed herself out of the couch. "I want another drink. You?"  
"I won't say no."

When Tara returned with the two beers Vincent had relocated to a couch closer to the panorama windows and was sitting with his back to her, staring out at the far-away mountains, his shoulders slightly hunched. After debating with herself for a moment, Tara walked up to him; and when she came to halt behind him, she could see the tension in his shoulders. She hesitated for another moment before she put the bottles on the table beside, then cautiously lowered her hands down onto Vincent's shoulders. He tensed even more at the touch but after a few moments, began to relax when Tara gently kneaded the rock-hard muscles with her fingers.

After a few minutes Vincent suddenly let his head drop back onto the back of the couch so that with looking down, Tara was able to see his face. He had his eye closed and there was a strange tension in his face as if he didn't dare to relax completely. Before she realised what she was doing Tara had moved her hands up from his shoulders, and the moment her fingers threaded themselves into his hair his eye opened, but he made no move nor said a word to stop her.

The beer forgotten, Tara let go and walked around the couch to sit hesitatingly beside Vincent who lifted his head and looked at her, his face betraying nothing but mild confusion. She nervously licked her lips, not knowing what to say and becoming more and more nervous under his silent, mildly puzzled stare. She finally dared to place her hand against his chest, but didn't dare to look at him anymore. She wasn't sure herself what she was doing and why.

Vincent in turn leaned a little forward and exhaled softly. "What is it you want?"  
Since she didn't know herself Tara was about to remove her hand when suddenly, his hand was atop hers and kept it in place. At this Tara finally dared to look up at him again, but his face was hard to read. His eye, however, was looking at her with a strange, dark glow. "You are surely aware that this is most... unwise."  
"I know." There was a trace of defiance in her voice and the tiniest of smiles tugged at Vincent's lips.  
"I ask you again: What do you want? I suggest you think well on that, because most likely, I won't be able to give it to you."  
Tara cleared her throat before answering in a low voice. "I won't ask for your heart on a silver plate."  
His face unmoving, he lowered his eyelid. "Other parts of my body are unattainable to you as well, even if I would have it otherwise."  
"A man is more than his dick", Tara gave back and that made Vincent chuckle under his breath.  
"Which brings us straight back to the other part of anatomy we talked about. If you do not approach me for sex, then what is it you want?"

At that point Tara would have believed he was mocking her if not for the fact that he was still holding her hand against his chest. She gathered some courage, leaned a little forward and answered in a low voice that was almost a whisper. "Maybe I have a thing for the unattainable."  
Vincent lowered his eyelid a little, a slight, crooked smile on his face. "You don't say."  
"Are you saying I can't have you?"  
"I am saying that you first ought to make sure you are happy with what I am able to give you to avoid... disappointment."  
Tara leaned forward again so that their faces were now only inches apart. He didn't move back, and a faint trace of amusement played over his face.  
"What if I say that I'm quite used to getting what I want?"  
He chuckled again. "Then I would say it's about time someone taught you a lesson of limitation." Tara's eyes widened and she was almost about to lean back and stand up as he let go of her hand with those words, though only to place it at the back of her neck. "And if it that someone is to be me, however, I'll best make sure the lesson is taught... well." He smiled, for the first time did he smile, and shook his head. "I still do not understand why you would prefer a maimed and emasculated cripple like me over a real man."

Those last words were more than Tara was presently able to take. With her eyes brimming with tears she leaned forward and touched his lips with hers. Moments later the pressure on the back of her neck increased as he pulled her towards him, and she kissed him again, a feather-light touch of lips on lips before she slung her arms around his neck and opened her lips to him.

He pulled her close and buried his hands into her hair as they deepened their kiss and for a short moment in time, they both managed to forget about the hostile and merciless world outside. Tara broke the kiss after a few moments to straddle his lap, yet when she slung her arms around him again she noticed the slightly strained look in his eye. Only then did she register the lack of something she should have felt since he was wearing cargoes and not leather pants, but since the absence of his erection had nothing to do with her and was nothing she could do anything about, she just shrugged and kissed him again. Vincent in turn closed his arms around her and breathed deeply through his nose as Tara trailed soft, light kisses across his jaw and down the side of his neck.

"Will you sleep in my bed tonight?", Tara asked after a moment and leaned back to look at him.  
His face unreadable, he tilted his head. "I won't be able to do anything else but..."  
"I don't want you to do anything. I just want you to be there."  
A tiny smile crept onto his face. "If it pleases you."  
"Will it please you?"  
He dug his hands into her hair and tugged gently, bringing her face closer to his. "It will", he said, and kissed her again.


	13. Chapter 13

Waking up in Vincent's arms was a strangely comforting and embarrassing experience both. It felt good, and at the same time, Tara didn't know what to say to him. He in turn had already been awake, watching her as she had come to her senses. She smiled shyly up at him but his face, as usual, betrayed nothing - although he did seem a little more relaxed.

It was at that moment Tara realised that sex wasn't so much what she had wanted of him but this, the simple comfort of a human touch. Someone to hold on to, someone to hold her. Since she couldn't remember ever having had sex she didn't miss it; she might have wanted it at one point back in time when she thought Boone was supposed to be the man to make her remember what it felt like. Since that hadn't happened she still had nothing she missed, and that left her only with a faint wondering what it would be like. When she told Vincent as much he gave her one of his rare, intense gazes and kissed her again before leaving her bed without a word.

Following his example Tara got up and dressed as well, only to be informed via intercom by Yes Man, just after she had finished brewing her first coffee, that there was a gentlemen in a white suit waiting for her on the casino floor.  
"Tell him I'll be down right away."

When she poked her head through Vincent's open bedroom door she found him buckling his belt and realised he seemed to move far more easily today. If he did it with force of will or if he indeed was someone with fast healing she didn't know, and she had no intention to pry into it.  
"I'll be seeing the King downstairs", she said. "There's no need for you to be in attendance."  
He looked up after shrugging the leather armour on. "Yes, there is."  
"What? This is my house, and there's a pair of securitrons downstairs guarding the doors."  
"It's the appearance of the thing."  
Tara blinked and mustered him as he buckled the straps of his armour, but he was absolutely serious. "Listen, I won't have you stand around for I don't know how long when you should be recovering from your injuries."  
"A minor nuisance."  
Tara rested her fists on her hips. "Do I have to order you to stay up here and rest?"  
A rare flash of emotion showed in his eye as he glowered at her. "Yes, indeed."

Deciding that she wasn't quite ready to use that approach she tried something else instead. She took a few steps towards him and rested her hand against his chest as she spoke, in as gentle a voice as she could muster. "I'd really prefer you to focus on getting well. You come along, then, but I won't have you standing up all the time. You will sit down. Deal?"  
The flare in his eye vanished and was replaced with his usual calm look as he nodded wordlessly.

The King was waiting for them on the Casino level, two of his men in attendance. He hailed Tara with a good-natured smile.

"Good morning, Tara baby. What can the King do for you?"  
Tara couldn't help but smile. "First, I have to ask you to send your men out of earshot."  
The King turned around. "You heard the lady. Wait outside."

First after the door had closed behind the men did Tara turn towards the King again. "Let's have a seat. It's a rather portentous decision we... you have to make."  
Lifting his eyebrows, the King followed her invitation and sat down. He cast Vincent a short glance as he sat down next to Tara, but Tara forestalled him.  
"He wouldn't be kept from his duty, but I don't want him to stand up that long yet."  
"Commendable", the King said and gave Vincent a nod before folding his hands on the table and looking earnestly at Tara again. "Now, Tara, you're getting me all worried."  
Tara tried to smile. "See, I got the idea when you and your men escorted me to the Lucky38 day before yesterday. I've been wracking my brain during the last few weeks, after that incident with the rapists, how we can make the streets safer, with the only conclusion that we need some sort of police force. Human police, that is. The securitrons have neither intuition nor are they intelligent. They are good at winning fights, not preventing them."

Running a nervous hand through her hair Tara paused, and the King slowly lifted his eyebrows as she looked at him, gesturing for her to go on.  
"I need someone whose sense of honour and duty I can trust absolutely", Tara went on, looking earnestly at the King. "Someone who knows what's lawful...", here she smiled, "...and what's right. Someone with the leadership skills and the authority to command a large group of men and train them to keep law and order without resorting to shoot first and ask questions later. In short..." She leaned forward, and the King whose eyebrows had risen almost into his hairline, shook his head with a crooked grin.  
"In short, you want the King for the job", he finished for her.  
Tara nodded with a smile.

"That's a pretty big thing you're asking. Not that that's a no, mind." The King tapped his chin with a thoughtful frown. "But if we're going to turn official, we need some support for equipment, weapons and the like."  
"I know", Tara gave back. "I've been thinking about that, too, but haven't reached a conclusion yet."  
"There's another problem, too", the King went on with his frown deepening. "The Families... they'll never accept someone else's authority in terms of guarding their premises or keeping the peace inside their Casinos."  
Tara fell back against her chair, her expression suddenly worried. "You're right, aren't you." She took a deep breath. "But this police force must be totally independent from the families, it ihas/i to be, otherwise the whole system would succumb to corruption as soon as we are out of the picture one fine day."

Nodding, the King folded his hands again. "We need some sort of agreement with them, though. I guess we can put down simple police laws easily enough within relatively short a time. What we need is... I guess we give the Families close to full authority on their premises and the permission to deal with the day-to-day occurrences in their casinos themselves: small thieveries, drunken misbehaviour, cheating, the like; only have them to fall back on us if there's a larger problem."  
"It could work", Tara replied slowly. "But we need to put that down very minutely, what they may do themselves and what not, and have them all agree with it down to the last detail, with signatures and all the official rest of it, so we can be sure they keep their end of the deal and if not, we got something in our hands against them."

The King nodded and cocked an eyebrow with a tired, little smile. "Looks like there's a whole new flood of exciting, interesting council meetings coming up for us in the near future."  
Shaking her head with a groan, Tara sat up straight again and leaned forward. "But... but you're up for the job?"  
"If you want a job done properly, do it yourself", the King replied, the smile widening a little. "I've been doing some sort of policing for a while now already, and I'd rather do this myself and properly than watch some prick with ears mess up my city."  
"Great", Tara said, with relief so palpable that it made the King grin.

The King gave her a nod, but as he was about to get up, Tara leaned forward a little more. "Have you heard..." She nervously licked her lips. "Have you heard anything in Freeside regarding my... regarding Vince?"  
Shooting first Vincent, then Tara a long glance, the King rolled his shoulders. "I wouldn't worry too much, Tara. Yes, there's a lot of people grumbling about you having taken the Legionary in, and giving him an important position to boot, but none of them can deny that he saved your life, and then the two boys. So they don't grumble too loudly."  
"I hardly dared to hope that", Tara gave back.  
"Yeah, I can imagine", The King replied. "But here... with sheer luck the two boys he saved are the sons of the man who's been making more fuss about this than I think was strictly necessary, if you catch my drift. Now, there's not many people who know that, but I do, because it's my job knowing these things." He winked. "Even before I was appointed chief of the New Vegas Police Department. He's an NCR deserter. Might want to keep that in mind next time he comes stirring up trouble."  
Tara felt a smile creep onto her face. "That's indeed handy to know. I hope I won't have to use it against him, though, at least not publicly. But it is handy to know."

Nodding again, the King got up, and Tara saw him out of the door.

"You think I made the right decision?", Tara asked Vincent a while after the King had gone.  
Vincent looked baffled for a second before he rallied himself and brought his face back under control. "Why on earth are you asking _me_ that?"  
Tara chuckled. "Because I know your judgement to be unbiased and cruelly honest. Besides, you seem to be awfully good at reading people, or their subconscious hints and signals. So?"  
Vincent seemed to consider his answer very carefully. "I think you did. He is an honest and honourable man, and he only ever thinks of the well-being of the city and its inhabitants. In fact, he may well be a bit too honourable sometimes." He looked at Tara with his eye narrowed. "Is that the kind of answer you were hoping to hear?"  
"It was", she gave back. "Thanks."  
"I sincerely hope you are not making any decision based on my counsel alone."  
Tara chuckled. "No. But your counsel has its special value because you're not jockeying for position or trying to get a bigger piece than anyone else."  
He crossed his arms. "What makes you so sure I won't?"

Tilting her head and crossing her arms, Tara pursed her lips. "What would you gain? You can't take over the place, can you?"  
"No." The usual, tiny smile appeared on his face that indicated faint amusement and mild disdain both. "But I could attempt to... rule... by influencing you."  
"What? Have you picked that up, too?"  
"No. Not yet, in any case, but I wouldn't be surprised if I soon did."  
Tara could only shake her head but had to concede he might have point. "Is there anything I could..."  
"Treating me less polite and more like the simple servant that I am."  
"You're no servant", Tara snapped. "You're my bodyguard! I have to treat you with respect, because... honestly, would you want a bodyguard who bears a grudge towards you?"  
He leaned back and contemplated this for a while. "No", he said at last. "And therein lies the problem: no matter what you do, people will talk, one way or another."  
"I guess since there's nothing we can do to stop them we might as well keep the status quo."  
Vincent looked up at that, and the smile on his face made Tara's stomach flutter. "As you wish."


	14. Chapter 14

Back in the suite, Tara leaned in the doorway to his bedroom, watching as Vincent shrugged off the upper part of his armour. When he noticed her watching him and gave her a questioning look she smiled and lowered her eyes, a little shy and embarrassed for no reason she could – or would, not yet, in any case – put her finger on.  
Vincent walked over to her, but even as he stood close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body, he didn't say anything and his face betrayed nothing.  
Unnerved by his silence and his closeness both, Tara leaned back against the wall and tried to smile. "Two caps for your thoughts?"  
A tiny smile tugged at his lips. "I was wondering how long it will take before people begin to believe that you have an affair with your bodyguard."

Staring at him, Tara realised that her mouth stood open, but as she failed to think of a reply she closed it again and swallowed, settling on a question instead. "Well... they won't like it, but is that really going to be a major problem?"  
Vincent lifted his eyebrows. "You really think it won't?"  
After another deep breath, Tara shook her head. "But then... what will they do?"  
"Lose their trust in you, most likely." Vincent slowly crossed his arms. "But maybe I'm being overly pessimistic and they won't really care one way or the other. It would be easier, of course, had we been able to keep my past a secret, even if I cannot remember it."  
"So you think..." Tara swallowed and looked away. "In other words, you think we should never have gone there and leave it at that."  
"I didn't say that", he replied, and his voice was surprisingly gentle. "I want you to be aware of the consequences of keeping me close. Us having or not having an affair for whatever reason is completely irrelevant if people think we have. You have to be aware of that and expect to be confronted about it. When this happens, you better have a good reply prepared."  
At this, Tara could finally smile again, if only a little. "I don't need a lie, Vincent. I can tell them the plain truth: You will never bed a woman again. Isn't that so? Anyone who doubts my words can ask Julie or Arcade, they're the ones who sewed you up."  
His face froze into the usual mask that let nothing show of what he was feeling. "You're right, of course."

Tara watched him for a moment before she placed a hand on his chest again. "I'm so sorry... really I wish..."  
"Your wishing is most futile and pointless", Vincent gave back, a tiny edge to his voice. "And I do not want your pity. If you feel so bad about it then maybe you'd be better off with a whole man who doesn't give you these troubles and gives you what you want instead."  
"But I don't want another man!", Tara snapped before she could stop herself. Vincent emitted a tired snort at that and ran a hand down his face.  
"You should be very cautious of making commitments like these, even if they are only verbal", he said, his one-eyed gaze glowing like she had never seen it before. "Because... Vincent... not only is no man, he is not even real. I am the shell, the shadow of another man and most likely will vanish without a trace as soon as the memories come back and turn me into the man I was before."

Staring open-mouthed at him, Tara could find no reply and could only watch in helpless silence as he readjusted his eye patch and then turned on his heels and vanished into his bedroom, softly closing the door behind him. Blinking back her tears she let her head drop against the wall and realised his warning had come far too late.

He re-emerged again sometime later, having exchanged his leather armour for a pair of cargo pants and a once white t-shirt. When he noticed her, still standing against the wall and stare at the ceiling, he shook his head and walked over, looking silently down at her. Tara opened her eyes, then lowered them and pushed herself off the wall.

"I guess you're right", she said, a little hoarse. "It's a dangerous game and besides, it's not really fair towards you."  
"Fairness has nothing to do with it."  
"But you..."  
He held up a hand. "My _condition_ is a minor issue here. The main problem is that, indeed, this is a dangerous game. However..." And he leaned forward with these words, placing both his hands on Tara's shoulders. "A dangerous game is all the more exciting. Just be aware of... the risks that accompany the thrill."  
"Since you pointed some out to me..." Tara managed a hesitant smile. "How many more are there?"  
"How am I to know?" Vincent lowered his eyelid. "Much more important: are you willing to find out?"  
A chuckle she wasn't able to hold back escaped her. "Is a moth willing to fly into the candle flame?"

He slowly tilted his head, his expression somewhere between slightly puzzled and mildly amused. "Is that how you see me?"  
"It's how I feel", Tara gave back in a whisper. "It's nothing I can help, you know."  
Vincent leaned forward and moved his hands from her shoulders upward, cupping her cheeks. "Then it would indeed be a waste of time and energy to fight it."

Tara closed her eyes as he lowered his head, slinging her arms around his neck as their lips met. When after a few long moments, Vincent broke the kiss and trailed his lips across her cheek and down her neck Tara couldn't suppress a heavy sigh and a little shudder.

"Weren't you supposed to teach me a lesson in limitation?", she asked a little breathlessly and shivered when he chuckled against her skin.  
"By all rights I should, yes."  
"Well..." She swallowed. "What are you waiting for?"  
"What am I..." he broke off, suddenly tense.  
A little confused by the sudden change of attitude Tara lifted her head to see him stare empty-eyed at nothing. Vincent...?"

"_What are you waiting for?"_

"Vince?"

Vincent shuddered violently and all but gasped for air. Sudden fear clutched her stomach and Tara dug her fingers into his shoulders. He showed no reaction.

"_Fuck that, Jack! What are you waiting for?"_  
"_He's running nowhere."_  
"_C'me on, just shoot him! You can't seriously mean to let him live like that."_  
"_Why should I waste a bullet on him?"_  
"_Good point."_  
"_Oh come on, you two can't..."  
"He's gonna bleed to death anyway, and Jack's completely right. He's not worth the bullet. Putting that one out of his misery is too good for him, anyway."_

"Vincent!"

Abruptly, his head snapped around and he stared at her as if he couldn't remember where he was, who she was, and how he'd gotten there. Then he blinked and slowly shook his head, the colour returning to his face.  
Anxiously placing her hands on his cheeks Tara searched his eye and found him looking back wearily and shaken.

"I fear me that was a fragment of memory, coming back to haunt me", he said slowly and in a husky voice.  
Tara felt a lump in her throat. "It's beginning then."  
He avoided her eyes. "So it would seem."

She could do nothing but throw her arms around him and hold on, and he closed his arms around her in return. They remained like this for a long while before they leaned away from each other, and after a the exchange of a long, silent glance, they simply relocated into Tara's bedroom, undressed rather unceremoniously down to their underwear and crawled under the blanket where they remained, clasped in each other's arms, until they both fell asleep from the sheer exhaustion they had build up during the last few weeks.

Tara was awoken a few times by Vincent muttering and tossing in his sleep and with a cold feeling of dread she realised that most likely, this time he would remember at least parts of his dreams when he woke up. And with that realisation came another one, as unbidden and even more unpleasant: At dawn, most likely he would be Vincent no longer.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x**_

When Tara awoke the next time it was because Vincent had shot upright from one of his nightmares, and while she was still trying to gather her senses he was already out of the bed and on his way out.  
After the few moments it took her to get her bearings she followed him just in time to see the elevator doors close. She waited, called the elevator back and went up into the lounge where she found him, his shoulders hunched and his arms tightly crossed, staring at the horizon that was just showing the first grey line of daybreak.

"Vince?"  
He showed no reaction.  
"Would you rather be alone?"  
This time, he shook his head.

Tara hesitatingly made her way towards him. When she reached him she could see his hair was still moist, a few strands clinging to his temples. She didn't know what to say, however, so she just took another step around him to look at his face. The pink scar through his eye socket shone in a stark contrast to his pale and sweaty face.

His voice, when he spoke, was hollow and a little hoarse. "I watched my parents die in the pyres for the weak and unworthy."  
Tara felt like kicked in the stomach and found it hard to speak. "How... how old were you?"  
He didn't reply at once. "Old enough for the naming", he finally said. "Not old enough for the coming of age ceremony. Not that it mattered. These were only tribal superstitions anyway." And after a long pause, he added: "Six or seven, I gather. Maybe eight. It doesn't really matter, either. Old enough to begin training with the Legion, young enough to forget the superstitious nonsense my tribe wasted its time on teaching us."

Not knowing what to say to this Tara kept her silence and watched him. It was only a glimpse of his old life that she just had gleaned, and still it made her feel sick; it gave her an ache in her chest that made it hard for her to breathe. A mere child, he had been taken by the Legion, forced to watch his parents die and burn – and she hardly dared to hope it was in that order – broken down to nothing and re-built and shaped into a tool to be used at his superiors' will; his history, his beliefs, his very personality shorn away like so much unwanted hair, only that those things would never grow back.

What she could also see as she watched him was that for a moment here and there, two different men seemed to look out of his remaining eye. There was the man she knew, a thoughtful man who had just remembered a garish, horrible event of his childhood and tried to get to grips with it, and there was the other man, the man this child had later become, and that man was sneering at his own weakness. And even while she desperately ached to offer him some sort of comfort, she already didn't dare to touch him anymore.

He, in turn, kept on staring at where the sun would rise, and when it finally began to peek over the horizon and the light made it hard to keep looking east, turned around and walked away from her, back to the elevator.

Tara followed him, uncomfortable in their stony silence, but since she had no idea what she could say that wasn't a complete waste of breath she said nothing. He kept his silence until they entered the suite again, and, for now, seemed to be the man she knew.

"Do you have plans for the day?"  
Trying to shake off the eerie feeling his earlier revelations had given her Tara needed a moment or two to focus her mind again. "I do. I need to see if Cass has returned. We need to put that matter with the rapists behind us."  
"Will you summon a court of law?"  
She cast him an unhappy look. "I guess I have to."  
"You will need an executioner."  
"I know!"  
He blinked. "I do apologize, but..."  
"No." Tara ran her hands through her hair and down her face. "Don't apologize when I'm being a bitch about this. But I can't appoint an executioner... I mean, I can't just point at anyone and say: You're going to be a murderer for me in the name of the law."  
"A strange expression for one faced with her own demise at the hands of the men to... 'murder in the name of the law'."  
Tara shrugged. "I know. I just... I just can't. No one would be just..."  
"Would you have me do it?"

Lifting her head to be able to look into his eye she tried to find out if he was sincere, but he seemed to be. Not overly eager, perhaps, but if she told him to, he would do it. It was strangely comforting and terrifying at the same time. "No." She shook her head in emphasis. "I've got robots. They can do this, they won't have to deal with any emotional crisis afterwards."  
"Someone will have to give the command to shoot."  
When she spoke again after a long pause, Tara could hardly recognise her own voice. "That will be me, then. Presently. I command them, so that's that."  
"If it is any comfort to you, then think of it as a mercy killing", Vincent said slowly. Tara looked up again at that, but there was still no mocking in either his voice or his eye. "If you won't have them disposed of, there will be a mob in Freeside tearing them apart, led by the families of the girls who died at their hands. And they will not stop at the doors of the Kings' compound. It would be a poor way for them to start being the police force of New Vegas, shooting at civilians in order to protect a bunch of murderers."  
Tara shuddered. "I understand you perfectly well. And don't worry, I won't let them rot in there. I just need to speak to Cass and find out what she knows. Then I'll call the council together, it's the only legal body I presently have. Satisfied?"  
Vincent lifted his eyebrows. "It should be you being satisfied with the solution, not me."  
Tara barely suppressed an angry snort, but since he was right, he didn't deserve being snapped at. "Let's just go", she said, already tired to the bones. "Just let's get this over with. You need breakfast?"  
He shook his head. "I'm not hungry."  
"Good. Neither am I. We meet downstairs."

He nodded and silently vanished into his bedroom to dress. Tara took another deep breath and tried to calm her mind that, in her opinion, had already been confronted with too much unpleasantness for such an early morning.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Starcraft 1 quote further below (I don't steal, at least I try not to)

* * *

They reached Cassidy's Caravan Compound not half an hour later, with the rising sun just beginning to top the hills. Everything seemed peaceful there, until Tara and Vincent actually entered the compound upon which they were suddenly confronted by a very angry, no, an outright furious Craig Boone armed with a rifle and seemingly on the verge of shooting everything around him into a bloody pulp.

"You", he snarled icily as Tara approached. "I can't believe... you of all people!"  
"Can you..." Tara began, but Boone didn't let her speak.  
"That you'd willingly suffer one of those bastards..." He pointed his rifle at Vincent. "He's a fucking legionary!"  
Tara took a very deep breath and exhaled very slowly. "Craig..." she began.  
"How can you actually turn your back on him? Sleep with him under the same roof? You! You of all people?"  
"Craig..."  
"Craig!" That was Cassidy's voice as she hurried over, having heard Boone's furious tirade. Tara herself was a little shaken, she had never seen Boone so furious and he had never yelled at her like that. Or even spoken so many words, what with his silent and stony demeanour, she hadn't thought him capable of such an emotional outbreak. She cast another, cautious glance at Vincent but he, as usual, only observed the proceedings without any sign of emotion.

Cassidy had by now reached Boone's side and laid a hand on his arm. Boone didn't seem any less outraged but at least responded by making an effort to bring his breathing under control so he no longer sounded like an enraged brahmin bull.

"Sorry Tara", Cassidy said. "I wasn't here, or I would've broken it to him. As it is, he heard it through gossip in Freeside and I had a hard time keeping him from coming after you into the Lucky and blow both your brains out."  
"He is welcome to try", Vincent said in a dangerously low voice, but Tara had no mind for any manly bickering fuelled by hatred and testosterone.  
"Shut it", she snapped at Vincent in a voice so harsh as she had never used it before. He immediately stiffened and took a straight-backed step back to stand behind her left shoulder, arms crossed and eye looking at nothing.  
"And you...", Tara said to Boone after also crossing her arms, "...are jeopardizing your _mission_ if you threaten me or my bodyguard. I honestly thought you had more brains than that."

Boone's face flushed a dark shade of purple for a second before turning completely white. Before he could say anything, however, Cassidy squeezed his arm and spoke to Tara again.

"When it comes to the Legion he's got no brains left to think with", she said slowly. "I can't say I'm happy either, but 'Vince' is not my bodyguard and I don't have to fuck him, so I don't particularly care one way or the other. And he seems to be on the level, from what I've heard. The boys, I mean."  
Boone emitted an angry snort.

"Stuff it", Cassidy said. "You'll keep your paws off him and we may pull this through. You know as well as I do that we can't go home empty handed." Then she looked at Tara and her mouth narrowed into a thin line. "Gotta explain that nugget, I guess. Did something a bit rash back home. Went to the Crimson Caravan compound to get back what was rightfully mine. No one said a fucking thing about it and then, suddenly, they tell me that this was 'government property', confiscated goods and shit, waving their dicks at me and saying if I don't suck them I'll join the former owners of the shit in the joint. That's why we're here, and why it's me. We didn't exactly volunteer. I was given the choice: Do what they say or get in trouble over stealing government property. Wasn't a terribly hard decision to make."

"You were always a bit rash", Tara gave back, shaking her head with a tiny smile.  
Cass shrugged, and then grinned. "Huh. What can I say? I fucked this up, so I'd better suck some serious dick to get out of it."  
"And... can you keep him in check?" Tara pointed with her chin at a stony-faced Boone. "I don't fancy having the roles between me and my bodyguard reversed."  
"If I can't, then my cunt will, kid. We'll keep him pacified, don't worry."  
Tara had to bite back a grin upon seeing Boone's facial expression, and it was even harder when she exchanged a glance with a shamelessly grinning Cass. "Right", she said after clearing her throat. "I actually needed to talk to you, Cass. Serious shit, that is."  
Cass wiped the grin off her face. "I'm all ears."  
"Were you supposed to pick up a package here in Vegas and deliver it back to someone in the NCR?"

"Where'd you... okay. Right. I knew there had to be something fishy about that deal, it was too fucking good to be true." Narrowing her eyes, Cass tapped her chin with her forefinger. "A thousand in advance, a thousand upon delivery. Deal stank like an old whore's cunt, but I thought it was only a delivery of something valuable."  
"Valuable for somebody, certainly. Maybe even dangerous, if it had fallen into the wrong hands."  
"Huh?" Cass shoved her hat back and scratched her hairline. "What was supposed to be in that fucking package?"

Tara bit her lower lip and debated with herself how best to broach the subject, then decided that blunt and straightforward was what Cass was best at. "A holotape. In fact, a holotape of the rape and murder of several girls. We caught a band of rapists and murderers in Freeside and they swore up and down they'd been hired to do the job, record the whole thing on a holotape and give it to a caravan that was to send it back to the NCR. In short, with you."  
Cass stared at her, gaping like a dead fish for a moment before her mouth snapped shut. "What the everliving fuck..."  
Tara shrugged. "Someone there has a sick... kink, I'd say, and money to spend on it. These men also said that their... customer had specially requested a… a performance..." Tara forced her voice to remain calm. "...by the Courier."

For a moment, it looked like Cass wanted to break out into hysterical laughter but had forgotten how to. Then she adjusted her hat and took a deep breath. "Did someone want you dead then? Or is he just a rich sick fuck on a power trip?"  
"I don't know." Tara shrugged. "But by the time we found out that there was more to those cases of rape and murder than just a gang, everyone in Freeside had heard it and there's no chance of the middle man not having heard it, too. He probably hightailed it out of here weeks ago, so there's no chance of us finding out more about the principal. Where were you supposed to deliver the thing?"  
Cass crossed her arms. "I was told someone would pick it up once we were back."  
"Oh well." With a sigh, Tara ran her hands through her hair. "Nothing we can do about that anymore. Hopefully we've scared him off good and proper."

"There's one thing I don't understand", Cass said after a long, heavy silence. "Why? I mean, why here in New Vegas if the sick fuck sits back in Shady Sands or whatever? Why'd he send someone over here?"  
Tara shrugged. "Would you have girls raped and killed close to where you live, upsetting the peace and risking investigations by an established police force? And want to ...watch... the recordings of somebody you may know and didn't want this to happen to? Better go to a lawless warzone where barbarism rules and nobody gives a fuck about human decency! Best place for that! We now even keep legionaries as pets you know! And..."

Boone chose that moment to join the conversation, his voice still a growl. "How do you know it wasn't the fucking Legion's attempt at revenge? This bastard..." And here he pointed with his rifle at Vincent who had turned into a statue and didn't even look at him now, "... could have done it, for all we know. He's Legion, and if he's so well trained as everyone says he's a fucking officer! You can't trust that man, Tara! He's a god-damn snake!"  
"But he's _my_ snake now. I need him to deal with all the vermin here." Tara narrowed her eyes and she and Boone glared at each other like two angry predators, all bristling fur and glowing stares.  
"And besides... the Legion's revenge?" Tara uncrossed her arms again and held up her hands, palms up. "There is no fucking Legion anymore, Boone. That's the end of it! We drove them all off and killed most of them in the process. There's none alive anymore to lead them, and it all falls apart. You know that, Boone. The Legate is dead, Caesar is dead, and all the officers that surrounded Caesar are dead, so please tell me: Who is fucking left to extricate their precious revenge?"

With his face locked in barely suppressed fury, Boone again pointed at Vincent with the business end of his rifle.  
"Craig, if you don't immediately lower that thing, I'll teach you some muzzle discipline and whack you one", Cassidy snapped.  
At that, Boone finally lowered the weapon, somewhat, pointing at Vincent's knees instead of his head, but it was better than naught.

Tara slowly turned around, looked at her bodyguard and his unmoving face and opened her arms, holding her hands outward on the level of her belt. "Revenge?"  
Vincent snorted softly under his breath. "Why?"  
"Because I lost you the battle?"  
Vincent shrugged. "Battles are won, battles are lost."  
Tara looked at Boone again.  
"You simply can't trust a man who changes loyalties like a fucking pair of boots!"

Tara and Vincent exchanged a look and Vincent rested his eye on Boone. "Even if there was something of the Legion left, they'd treat me as a traitor and deserter because I failed to die in battle, falling into enemy hands. So whom should I be loyal to? Those who'd cast me out, crucify me as soon as they got hold of me, or those who took me in?"

Boone stared at Vincent for a long moment, his colour slowly turning back to normal from the crimson of rage. Finally, he looked at Tara again and rolled his shoulders, then slung his rifle onto his back again. "A legionary... rapists, slavers, murderers. You got bad taste in men."  
Tara suppressed the urge to slap him. "At least I'm consistent!" Boone's face fell completely apart for a second before it turned from white to deep read again within seconds while Cassidy broke out into a dirty, screeching cackle. The sniper spun around on his heels and vanished into the nearest house.

With a sigh, Tara shook her head, suddenly feeling tired; the next headache already announcing itself as well. She rubbed her temples with another sigh. "Cass, will you be in trouble over this?"  
Cass had managed to stifle her laugh into a dirty chuckle. "No." She took a deep breath. "Don't worry. He's a basket case, sure enough, but then, I knew that before I took his ring, so he's _my_ basket case now. Don't worry, I'll give him a good fucking, and he'll be as good as new. And hey... nothing better to ease a man's wounded pride than a cunt." With these words, Cassidy gave Vincent another long, speculative look and for the second time that day in as many minutes Tara had to suppress the urge to slap somebody.  
"Drop it, Cass", she said. "Don't even think of it, and I don't want elaborate, either. If you have to have the whole story, go to the Fort, talk with Julie or Arcade and make them tell you about Vince because I won't."  
"Keep your pants on, girl", Cass said, looking the slightest bit worried. "I just wondered how you could come by such a looker and not..."  
"I said drop it. You could at least have the decency to indulge in these conversations when he's not present."  
Cass grinned. "Hard to catch you alone, but I get you. And now I'd better go and soothe poor Craig's sore spots. You know where to find me if you need anything else."

Tara nodded and watched her go, then turned around to head for the gate. When she passed Vincent she looked at him but his face betrayed nothing whatsoever. "Sorry", she said under her breath.  
Vincent lifted his eyebrows but remained quiet. With a sigh, Tara left the compound, her bodyguard trailing silently after.

Yet when they passed the Fort, Tara noticed that Vincent faltered in his steps and stopped to turn around and look at him. His face had gone pale and he was tense, a strange expression on his face, the look in his eye completely blank for a second.

"_Rapists, slavers, murderers..."_

"Vince?"

"_Christ, that one's tough, gotta hand him that. Hasn't begged for mercy once."_  
"_Know he won't get it. Them bastards don't know what mercy is."_  
"_Fuck, no. They're nothing but a cruel bunch of rapists, slavers and murderers..."_  
"_Someone ought to show them bastards how it feels like."  
"Huh. Right. See how he likes it when someone sticks a cock inside him."_  
"_I'm not gonna stick my cock inside that one!"_  
"_Hold him down, willya? This is gonna be fun."  
"What? You gonna stick your..."  
"I'm gonna stick my gun inside him, sure. Here... let's see how you like that, you swine!" _

Vincent tensed even more and his face went dead white. A fine trickle of sweat ran down his temples and Tara hardly dared to breathe.

"_Hey, if you pull the trigger now we're all gonna be covered in his guts, so be careful!"_  
"_Hey, he likes that, see?"_  
"_No, I don't... come one Jack, that's enough. Just shoot him."_  
"_Haven't finished yet. Besides, a bullet's too good for him, sure. And he's gonna lick my gun clean, too. Aren't you?"  
"You're a bit of a sick bastard, Jack."  
"Not half as sick as those crimson assholes. Lick that off."_  
"_Come on, Jack, let's just get out of here before some CO finds us."_  
"_Lick that off or I'm gonna cut off your balls and make you eat them. Know what... I'll make you eat your fucking balls anyway." _

Tara watched worriedly as Vincent doubled over a little and emitted a low, gagging noise. Then he shuddered violently and closed his eye.

"_Jack, that's really enough now. Just shoot him."_  
"_You're not going sissy on me, are you?"_  
"_No, I just want to have this over with. Just shoot him."_  
"_No."_  
"_Fuck that, Jack! What are you waiting for?"_  
"_He's running nowhere."_  
"_C'me on, just shoot him! You can't seriously mean to let him live like that."_  
"_Why should I waste a bullet on him?"_  
"_Good point."_  
"_Oh come on, you two can't..."  
"He's gonna bleed to death anyway, and Jack's completely right. He's not worth the bullet. Putting that one out of his misery is too good for him, anyway."  
"You're sick, the both of you. If you won't, then I..."_  
"_You'll do nothing of the sort! Whaddya think happens when someone hears the shot and the Sarge comes haring round the corner seeing... that?"_  
"_We can't just..."  
"Kinda late to think of that."_  
"_Let's hit it. We need to get away from here."_  
"_Hey, whaddya think you're doing?"  
"Slit his throat, you bastards. I can't believe..."  
"If you don't immediately take your hands off him, Private Jeremiah Hobson, I'll slit yours. And if you go and blow the whistle on us, then me and Jack will tell everyone it was your idea in the first place."  
"You... oh god, you don't mean that..."_  
"_If we're caught together, we'll hang together. Let's go." _

"Vincent?"  
He shook himself like a wet dog and blinked a few times before he straightened up again, pale and swaying ever so slightly. "Nothing."  
Yet Tara saw how he swallowed and could only guess that something had triggered another fragment of memory in him. He didn't look at her again so all she could do make sure they made their way home quickly so he could face that particular demon; and Tara didn't fail to notice that he suddenly walked like someone who had just left his sickbed after a very long time.

When they reached the 38, Vincent kept avoiding looking at her and vanished into his room immediately upon reaching the suite, silently closing the door behind him. Tara never heard nor saw anything of him for the rest of the day and not for the whole night, either.


	16. Chapter 16

As far as Tara could tell, Vincent was his old self when they made their way across the Strip the next morning, gathering the members of the council to meet at the King's compound for the first court of law.

But whenever she looked at him he stared straight ahead, and he acknowledged her presence only when she spoke to him directly. She was worried, but then, he might well have been so withdrawn because of how she had snapped at him in Cass' caravan compound the day before. She decided she needed to broach that subject, but now she had more pressing matters at hand.

"Is everyone present?" The King placed his hands palms down on the table before him as the last two people, Julie and Arcade, had entered the room. "I'd like to get this over with."  
"So do we all, believe me", Benny said.

The King nodded and told two of his men to bring the prisoners forth. Tara let her eyes sweep over the people present, trying to read their facial expressions and their body language, and realised as she did so that she was looking for tell-tale signs of one of these people being the middle man they were looking for. She shook her head, trying to keep her thoughts from showing on her face. She would develop paranoia if she couldn't keep them in check.

Beside her, she heard Arcade gasp as the door opened, and looking up at the prisoners being shoved in by their guards she felt her stomach clench. None of the five men had received any kind of medical treatment after their arrest, despite what Vincent had done to them.

One had a horribly distorted jaw and had obviously lost a lot of teeth, another had a swollen, infected gash above his left eye and carried himself like a man in a lot of pain, walking lopsidedly with his left arm hanging at an impossible angle. Tara guessed that his shoulder had been dislocated and felt a little sick at the thought of him having been in that kind of pain for weeks now. The others had gotten off more lightly and seemed unimpaired, but Arcade had jumped out of his chair and was pointing an accusing finger at the King. Julie beside him was a little pale and nervously kneaded her fingers.

"You..." The doctor snarled. "I can't believe this! How can you be so inhumane and not allow prisoners the basic human right of medical treatment? Look at those injuries! They..."  
"Oh please." Benny crossed his arms. "You honestly would waste time, effort and resources on people like them?"  
"I would! Because they're still people! You can't just..."  
"These guys...", the King said, "...have forfeited their right to be treated as people when they did things worse than a beast ever could."  
Arcade seemed frozen solid for a second before he turned to face Tara, his face white as a sheet. "They're still humans, by all that is holy, Tara, how can you talk about establishing a rule of law and justice all the time and then... this?"  
"I didn't know!", Tara snapped back. "I didn't know it, okay? And if you remember, it was fucking dark down there in the basement when we were there to interrogate them. I simply didn't see it, and you didn't either!"

Arcade snapped his mouth shut and fell back into his chair, but his hands were still trembling. Tara in turn dragged both hands through her hair and, by chance, met Vincent's look as she looked around. He still stood straight-backed and with his arms crossed, as usual, but there was an ever so faint sneer on his face. If that was contempt for the concept of having pity on a murderer or for her, with her high notions and her sorry implementation of the same, she had no clue.

"Right", Tara said after a deep breath. "There's nothing we can do about this anymore. I'm sorry Arcade, but the only thing we can do now is to make sure something like this doesn't happen again. Agreed?"  
Arcade exhaled sharply through his nose, but nodded when Julie laid a hand on his forearm.  
"Good." The next headache was on its way into Tara's temples and she tried to ignore it as best as she could when she addressed the accused men who were standing and blinking defiantly into the light that was, after being locked away in a almost lightless basement, much too bright for their eyes to be comfortable. "Will you repeat what you told Vincent here?"

One of the men, the one who seemed the least injured, cast Vincent a more than nervous look and licked his lips. "Don't know much", he said. "Was a guy in a suit and a fedora. Brown hair, brown eyes, sharp nose, receding hairline. Introduced himself as Mr Marshall."  
Someone snorted.  
The man shrugged and, after another nervous look, first at Vincent and then at Tara, went on. "Gave us the Pip Boy here and the tapes. Told us what he wanted to see. Gave us the cash. Told us he'd meet us two weeks later in the Wrangler to pick it up, pay the other half. Was a lot of caps, that. That's all we know. Really."

A long silence followed these words and Tara gave Vincent another thoughtful look. The prisoners seemed outright afraid of him and yet he had said he hadn't even touched them.

"And you admit you raped and killed the three girls?"  
"Yeah, we did, the cash, and all that shit", another one now fell in. He was nervously treading from one foot on the other. "We did the shit, and now we're gonna hang for it. Can we get this over with? I'm sick to my bones of mouldering down there and pissing blood."

After another moment of silence the King leaned back in his chair and faced Vincent. He waved him over and, after having exchanged a glance with Tara and received a nod, Vincent stepped forward and dropped his arms.

"Now I'd really, really like to know how you got that information out of them guys, Mister."  
"As you have experienced yourself, mere questioning didn't get me anywhere either." Vincent met the King's eyes squarely as he spoke, in a low and almost gentle voice.

"_You won't get nothing. We'll die anyway, and you can stuff your silly threats up your arse. We'll die with what we know and you can worry yourselves to death." The thug spat out and only narrowly missed Vincent's foot._

_Vincent in turn looked down at the sitting form of the man with barely concealed disdain before he lowered himself down into a crouch. He said nothing, barely mustered the man as if he was looking for clues in his face, then slowly straightened up again. He wordlessly took a step forward to stand under the small, grated window so he stood in the shaft of light and looked the five men over before uncrossing his arms. Silently and without moving a muscle in his face, Vincent then removed his eye patch and slipped it into a pocket.  
The prisoners watched him, distrustful and angry but helpless as all of them were cuffed at wrists and ankles._

_Vincent unhurriedly unbuckled the straps of his armour, shrugged it off his shoulders and dropped it. Next came the shirt, and he dropped that, too. When he unbuckled his belt the men were becoming nervous, visibly so, but none of the five could take his eyes off Vincent as he dropped his pants and straightened up again, letting the men look at his scarred and mutilated body in eerie silence._

_When several long, uncomfortable minutes had passed, Vincent spoke in a calm voice: "After what happened to me, I thought it wise to cooperate with the Courier." _

Every person present stared at Vincent in uncomfortable silence.

"And they did."  
"If I have to die I'd rather die in one piece", one of the prisoners said hoarsely. "Maybe I'm a coward but that..."  
Tara had stared goggle-eyed at Vincent as he had told the tale and now snapped her mouth shut. "You assured me you hadn't threatened them!"  
"Did I threaten them?" Vincent asked mildly. "I only showed them my scars. I never so much as hinted at these scars having been inflicted by you, or at your orders."  
One of the condemned men looked back and forth between Tara and Vincent a few times before he dropped his head with a snort and broke out into a helpless, hysterical giggle. The others just stared at their feet or at the far wall.

"Right", Benny said after another long while. "Can we... can we finally get this over with?"  
Tara got up and walked over to the condemned men, crossing her arms. "You'll be shot, not hanged, and we'll do it now. No need for any of us to drag this out any longer. You got anything to say?"  
One of the men spat at her feet, and all of them remained silent.  
"Fine. We meet behind the old station." Tara set off in what she hoped was a purposeful stride and not a hurried, nervous run. Vincent followed suit, nothing in his face betraying anything when Tara gave him a long, inquisitive look. She would never be able to read this man if he didn't want her to.

Having temporarily acquired residence in one of the securitrons, Yes Man was already there and waiting for them and had also already assembled a group of five other robots, orderly lined up in front of the station. When the others arrived with the prisoners and with a sizeable group of Freesiders in tow, everything went rather fast. The men were blindfolded by two of the Kings and lined up with their faces against the wall of the building. The robots took up their position and aimed, and in the heavy silence that followed, nothing could be heard of the three dozen people watching the execution.

Tara took a step back and crossed her arms, knowing that she had no reason to procrastinate things any further. She didn't relish having those men killed, but thinking on what they had done, and remembering what they almost had done to her, she took a deep breath, and her voice was loud, clear and unwavering.  
"Fire!"  
The shots fell, and the men, all five of them, collapsed against the wall. With the robots you could always be sure that they had a good aim, at least. Tara uncrossed her arms and when she looked around, her eyes fell on Vincent again who gave her an almost imperceptible nod. "Well done", he said in a voice so low that it was imperceptible to anyone but her.

She returned the nod and looked at the crowd of people that slowly began to disperse and knew without any doubt that she had taken the right way of justice. She could have given the mob the satisfaction of seeing the men suffer, but she had chosen to administer her justice swift and clean. And this, Tara realised, she could do.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x**_

"I had my doubts, you know", Tara said hesitatingly to Vincent after leaving the elevator in the suite of the 38. "I wasn't sure if I could do this."  
Vincent slowly tilted his head. "I didn't", he replied simply. "You don't seem to be aware of your own strengths."  
Tara managed a thin smile. "Maybe not. Maybe I am focussed too much on my weaknesses."  
"You should remedy that. If you are to be the leader of these people, even if only temporary, then you cannot allow yourself to so frequently doubt yourself. If you do, others will do so, too."  
"You're right, aren't you." Tara headed for the fridge in the kitchen while Vincent leaned into the doorframe. When she offered him a beer he shook his head and Tara contended herself with a single bottle, opened it and drained half of it in a single draught. When she looked at Vincent again, a thought hit her that she contemplated thoroughly before voicing it. "When you were talking about doubts, does that include my actions, words and thoughts?"  
"It does", Vincent replied with raised eyebrows.  
"See, I was wondering if I should apologize to you."  
He snorted softly. "What ever for?"  
"For snapping at you like that, yesterday, in the caravan compound."  
Vincent shook his head with a dry chuckle. "Please. You _should_ show me my place when I make a fool of myself."

Tara emptied her bottle and set it onto the table beside her before walking up to him. "Show you your place? You're my bodyguard, not my slave."  
"My place is behind you, watching your back and awaiting your orders, not embarking on pointless arguments with shallow people making hollow threats."  
Tara tried to think of a reply, then decided that she could think of none. With a shake of her head she looked up at him with a tiny, crooked smile and jerked her head towards the elevator. "Lounge?"  
"Do you wish for my company?"  
"I do."  
"I'll be right behind you."

_**x-x-x-x-x-x**_

As Tara stood at the window her heart began to beat furiously when Vincent came to stand behind her and closed his hands around her shoulders; she wanted nothing more than this touch at that moment, but she knew beyond doubt and hope that she would lose him to his memories sooner or later. Yet she could deny it no longer: She had fallen in love with a man who didn't exist.

Vincent gently dug his fingers into her muscles and kneaded them as she had done for him. After a few moments, he spoke in a soft voice. "Something heavy is on your mind."  
Tara swallowed. "It's nothing you can help me with."  
He leaned forward and spoke softly into her ear. "Is it so that I could help you get your mind off it?"  
At this, Tara pushed herself away from him and turned around to face him. "You're not my personal slave nor are you my sex toy!"  
"I fail to see the connection between my offer and your statement."  
"You do?" Tara crossed her arms to hide her trembling hands. "Your sense of duty is really well developed then."  
Vincent shook his head with a mildly annoyed sigh. "You think I came to you and your bed because you ordered me to?"

Tara opened her mouth to reply, but he lifted a hand.  
"You can order me to do a lot of things, Tara, but not that. Allow me my sense of pride and propriety. You couldn't order me to kiss you even if you held a gun to my remaining eye."  
"So you did..." Tara swallowed, inexplicably uneasy. "You did that willingly?"  
He snorted softly. "Did you truly think I'd do this unwillingly?"

After staring up at him with hungry eyes for a moment Tara let her head drop against his shoulder. "I just know that this isn't going to last, it simply can't. I will lose you to your memories."  
"I can't say that thought hadn't crossed my mind as well", Vincent gave back.

They both were silent for a while.

"Vince?" Tara leaned back and looked at his face, as unreadable as ever.  
"Yes?"  
"Who will protect me from you when you remember?"  
His gaze hardened for a second before he took a deep breath. "Why would you need protecting?"  
"Because the Legion hated and despised me. I was their worst enemy."  
He looked past her, out of the window. "The Legion doesn't exist anymore."  
"The Legion doesn't exist at all to you. It's not even a memory. But when your memories return, how can you not remember your greatest hate?"

After staring at the horizon for another long while, Vincent spoke in a low voice. "Then maybe it is better to leave before I do."  
They looked at each other in silence for a few heartbeats.  
"I want to hold you", Tara whispered after a moment. "Come."

She took his arm and tugged, and he followed with a frown on his face. Tara sat down on the nearest couch and pulled him down beside her, but took his shoulders and settled his torso back so his head came to rest in her lap. He looked up at her, but when Tara ran her fingers through his by now a little shaggy, outgrown hair, he closed his eye and after a few moments the deep furrow between his eyes began to disappear. They remained like that until later in the afternoon.

When the time for the next council meeting came and duty called, Vincent buckled his armour back on and Tara watched him, both of them thoughtful and silent. After rolling his shoulders once he stared at her with a strange, vulnerable look in his eye she had never seen before. He took a deep breath, then bent down and pulled something out of his boot and handed it to her. It was a small knife in a surprisingly sturdy leather scabbard.  
Tara gave him a questioning look.

"Don't ever touch the blade", Vincent said in a low voice. "It has been treated with a very powerful poison. A mere nick into an adversary's skin will be enough to kill him within minutes."  
Tara shuddered and stared at the knife again. "Where on earth..."  
"I remembered how to make it." There was an edge to his voice and Tara didn't dare to question him further. Yet when she looked up again and found him looking past her with a frown and his lips set tight, she suddenly felt her blood run cold as she realised what it truly was he had given her: The only protection from himself that he had been able to offer.


	17. Chapter 17

** The Strip, January 23, 2282 **

"Today's meeting is about the new Police force we've been talking about before", Tara said when everyone had settled down. "We all agreed we need something other than the robots who lack intelligence as well as intuition."  
"I gather you have an idea, the way you sound?" Cachino crossed his arms.  
"I do. It occurred to me after the incident involving the two boys and Vincent. The King offered to escort me... us... back here and I realised that we already have them. We only need to make things official."  
Cachino gave the King a long, long look but Benny just snorted.  
"Speaking of lacking intelligence and so forth", he muttered.  
"Can you please elaborate that, you chequered popinjay?", the King snapped back.

"Shut it!" Tara slammed the flat of her hand onto the table. "Behave like grownups, the lot of you. I personally trust the King in matters of law and order and his sense of honour and duty. I furthermore trust his men to follow his orders to the letter. The King himself has declared himself willing to take up the responsibility. So if anyone has anything...", here she glared at Benny, "..._constructive_ to say, please do so now."  
Cachino cleared his throat. "Will they patrol the Strip?"  
"They will." Tara looked at the three Family bosses in turn. "But we both agreed that the casinos themselves are and shall remain your turf..."  
"Wait a minute", Benny fell in. "You agreed on the whole thing beforehand? Why..."  
"You didn't think I'd present this matter about the King taking over the police without consulting with him first?", Tara gave back, mildly annoyed.  
"Well, yeah, I dig." Benny leaned back again. "Back to the casinos being our turf."

"You will keep your own weapons policy and the authority on your premises", Tara went on. "To deal with minor occurrences, the day-to-day business. Anything that goes beyond that is a case for the police."  
"And what would that be, anything beyond?", Marjorie asked with a frown.  
"That's why we are here", Tara gave back and shoved a large notebook at the two Followers sitting side by side. "Julie or Arcade, can I ask one of you to keep minutes? We need to get this clear and beyond doubt."  
"Sure", Arcade said and took notebook and pencil.  
"Why do we have to get this down in the first place?", Benny fell in, an annoyed edge to his voice. "My casino is my turf and no one's business but mine! House always..."  
"I'm not House!", Tara snapped back and her voice cracked with authority. "But I am the one who is calling the shots here, and I'm sick to my bones of your bickering! You're free to take your precious Chairmen and leave Vegas if you can't stand me and my methods of governance, and I won't stop you. If you want to stay, then you do as I say. Dig?"

Benny stared at her with widening eyes, and everyone had the pleasure of seeing him rendered speechless at Tara's completely unexpected outbreak.

Tara's eyes still glowed. "Can we get this over with? We just define what your business is and what the business of the official authorities is and we all can be on our merry way again."

It took the better part of the evening, but in the end, they had assembled a rather detailed list to everyone's satisfaction. Julie and Arcade each made two copies of the documents that were then signed by everyone present and then each of the Families, the King and Tara got one. She stowed hers away and gave Julie a thoughtful look.

"Julie, do you know someone who can read and write well whom I could employ as a secretary?"  
Julie looked up and blinked a few times in thought. "I might", she said. "I'll have a look around."  
"Maybe one of the former slaves can, those who weren't born into slavery, that is. And I'd like you to look for a woman or two for the housekeeping. I simply can't be bothered with cleaning right now."  
"That could easily be arranged", Julie said and Tara noticed her frown.  
"Any suggestion what I should pay them?"  
As Julie suddenly gave her a relieved smile, Tara knew that the doctor had harboured the same worries regarding the surplus work force that she had. She was just about to answer when Benny spoke up again.

"Pay them? They're slaves! You don't..."  
Tara all but jumped out of her chair and slammed both hands onto the table this time. Leaning onto her hands she glared at Benny, her voice dark with anger and every word as sharp as the crack of a whip. "We do not have slaves here in New Vegas. Period." Her voice rose and Benny pressed himself ever so slightly into his chair. "These people are no longer slaves, and that they don't know yet how to be free gives us no excuse whatsoever to exploit them! If you want labour, pay for it, and if I ever find out any of you have abused these people then god himself may have mercy on your souls because I sure as fuck won't!"  
Benny emitted a low, snarling growl in the back of his throat and lifted his right hand, but even as he did so a knife was suddenly buried in the wood next to his hand, nailing his sleeve to the table.  
"What the...!" Benny looked up, his face white. "Whaddya think I was doing? Trying to shoot you?"

Tara looked over her shoulder at Vincent. No one had even seen him move but one of the knives in his belt was missing and he had another one in his hand. "I guess he was just playing safe."  
"Could you keep your fucking bodyguard in check?", Benny snarled and pulled the knife out of the table top. "People might get hurt, you know."  
He pushed the knife across the table and Tara caught it, picked it up and handed it back to Vincent without looking at him, her eyes trained on Benny.  
"Believe me", she said slowly. "If he had wanted to hurt you, you'd be bleeding."  
"And you expect me to swallow that?" Benny hissed back. "What the fuck makes you think you can boss us all around like that?

That was the very last straw.

"THIS!" Everyone flinched at that as she pulled the Platinum Chip that she wore around her neck out of her shirt, set in a frame of copper wire and hanging from a leather string. "Just to remind you of who it was that got rid of House, the blasted NCR _and_ Caesar's motherfucking Legion!"

A heavy silence hung in the air with everyone staring at Tara as if she was an apparition from either heaven or hell. She fell back into her chair with a grunt and gave each person sitting around the table a long, boring look. And everyone she looked at looked away first.

"Fine." She ran her hands through her hair. "Now that we got that out of the way..."  
"Would you need anything else?", Marjorie asked cautiously, extending an olive branch.  
"Advice", Tara said simply and sat up straight again. "We need to equip that new police force with guns and armour too, and since I could imagine that I can't possibly pluck the casino owners for more taxes just now, I thought maybe one of you has an idea."  
Marjorie pressed her lips together, but before she could think of something, Cachino spoke up. "What about the Gun Runners? They haven't left yet, have they?"  
Tara frowned. "No, they haven't. But they won't give us any equipment for free."  
"Maybe we could strike a deal with them."

Crossing her arms, Tara stared at the table top before her. "What kind of deal could we offer them? They sit in a heavily fortified compound that is a god damn weapons manufacture. If they decide to pack and leave, who's to say them nay?"  
"There has to be something", Marjorie said thoughtfully. "If they were eager to be back west, they'd have left already."  
"But what would appeal to them?" Tara tapped her chin.

Everyone was silently and furiously thinking until Benny suddenly spoke again.

"Monopoly."  
Tara looked up, a little confused. "What do you mean?"  
"What we offer them", Benny said. "If they equip our forces, we make sure that no one ever imports weapons or ammunition from outside of New Vegas, and no one but them is allowed to produce them."  
"That almost sounds too simple", Tara said. "Too good to be true."  
Benny shrugged. "We could ask them. If they say no, we have to think of something else, but I don't think they will."  
"Do you really think they'd jump onto an offer like this?"  
"Absolute monopoly?" Benny gave her a cocky grin. "I would."

Tara stared at him for a while before shaking her head with a lopsided smile. "You know Benny, every time I think it can't get any worse you go and actually do something clever _and_ right."  
Benny flashed her a cocky grin. "Ring-a-ding-ding, baby."

_**x-x-x-x-x-x **_

Tara noticed Vincent giving her a long, seemingly thoughtful look as the elevator doors closed behind them. She lifted her eyebrows questioningly and Vincent's lips twitched into a hardly perceptible smile.

Yet first after they had reached the suite did he turn towards her. "That was... impressive."  
Tara blinked in confusion. "What was? My hissy fit?"  
He chuckled under his breath. "Your... hissy fit, as you call it, was, in fact, a display of leadership. Of authority."  
"I don't think it particularly impressive to yell people into silence."  
Vincent's tiny smile didn't waver. "There is absolutely no need for you to hide your light under a bushel. To silence someone requires two parts: the person doing the silencing, and the one to acquiesce into being silenced."  
"Acquiesce?"  
"They recognised your superior authority and thought it wise to cooperate."  
"I know the meaning of that word, thank you." Tara frowned and shook her head. "But I still..."  
"May I remind you of how you stared everyone down? If they'd been dogs, they all would have had their tail between their legs."

Tara's frown didn't disappear and she crossed her arms, but she thoughtfully pursed her lips.

"These people followed you because you had a vision. They will continue to follow you if you become their leader. Leadership requires authority and strength of will, and you gave proof today that you lack neither. Compromises will only get you so far."  
"So I'll have to impose my will sometimes."  
"Do you remember when we talked about the necessity of being ruthless?"  
Tara dropped her arms and looked up at Vincent, a small smile forming on her lips. "I do."

They exchanged a long, silent look, both of them smiling, until Tara took a step forward. "So if I trust in my strength of will to get me anything I want..."  
"I guess what you want would have to be considered in the light of propriety and common sense."  
Tara closed her fingers around the yokes of his armour. "What if there's something I'll only get if I throw all common sense and propriety out of the window?"  
Vincent lowered his eyelid, his smile twitching and growing the slightest bit wider. "Then you would have to be aware of the consequences."  
"I am", she said and tugged. He followed and leaned forward, now smiling in earnest as Tara whispered against his lips. "And frankly, I don't give a shit about them."  
Vincent buried his fingers into her hair as their lips met, smiling into her kiss.


	18. Chapter 18

** Outer Vegas, January 24, 2282 **

Tara went to the Gun Runners Compound right next day to begin negotiations. She was welcomed cautiously but not unfriendly, and was told the matter would have to be discussed and thought through.

"I understand, of course", Tara said with a smile. "Decisions like these aren't easy to make."  
"It's a tempting offer", Isaac gave back. "That's why we will have to think about it. The one thing I don't quite understand is how you'll keep that promise of no imports."  
"I guess we have to think of some sort of..." Tara bit her lower lip. "We will get the word out, of course. Declare imports illegal."  
"But that's not going to solve the problem." Isaac crossed his arms. "If they conceal the goods and smuggle..."  
"We'd have to search the Caravans, won't we?"  
Isaac jerked his head and popped the vertebrae in his neck, a sound that made Tara wince. "And who's doing that? Your police?"

Tara crossed her arms. "My guess is that we won't have enough of them just yet. We'd need some..." Then she looked up. "Hey, how many of you guys are there anyway?"  
Isaac narrowed his eyes and frowned, but after a moment of staring at Tara his face suddenly lit up. "Enough for two or three small squads to check the caravans, that's for sure."  
"Great. Just let me get this straight: We need the NCR and their trade, so we'll have to pay for the raw material. We..."  
"Hey", Isaac fell in, lifting one hand. "We're no pack of thieves."  
"I know", Tara said mildly. "But lesser men have been tempted before and eventually succumbed."  
"I get you", he replied, chuckling under his breath. "Don't worry. If we throw in our lot with you we'd better not get you into trouble. Won't we?"

Tara smiled again. "I'm glad you see things as I do."  
"I can't make a binding commitment yet, I'll have to bring this up with the others first. But with an offer like that we'd be idiots to refuse, and I'm sure HQ back home will see that, too. If anything, us supplying you and the NCR both is gonna equal the balance a lot."  
"Honestly", Tara said thoughtfully. "I'd have thought that weapons dealers like you wouldn't be interested in peace. Not that much, anyway."  
Isaac shrugged. "People need guns and ammo all the time. Wars are good for business, that's true, but they're also dangerous for us. We're gun manufacturers, not warlords, and we're not immune to our own products, if you catch my drift. And besides, governments keep waving their dicks at each other all the fucking time to see who's got the longest one, so peace or no peace, they'll always have to have something the others don't."  
"I see", Tara replied. "How long will your decision take?"  
"I'll get the guys together right now. Tomorrow, I guess. You'll hear from us." Isaac held out his hand.  
Tara took the offered hand and shook it. "I'll look forward to that."

"I think things are looking up" Tara said to Vincent as they reached the gates of Freeside. "If the Gun Runners really agree, and it looks likely, we'd have two rather large problems solved."  
Vincent opened the gate for her and swept his eyes across the street in front of them as she stepped through. "This decision won't be popular in the NCR."  
"Of course not. We... here, what's that?"

Close to the gates of the Fort stood a group of women, most of them weeping. They surrounded and supported another young woman who had her head thrown back and howled and wailed in absolute hysterics. No effort of the others around her could calm her.

Tara approached the group cautiously and then noticed Julie stand in the gate, watching the group of women with a pale face.

"Julie?", Tara asked as she hurried over. "What is going on here?"

Julie looked up at the sound of her voice and Tara could see her eyes were red-rimmed. "Just the usual", the doctor said in a tired voice. "She lost her child today to the bloody flux. There's nothing we can do but try and stabilize someone when that happens, and the boy was just too small, just six months or so. He never had a chance."  
Tara didn't know what to reply.  
"I don't know what we can do", Julie went on, as if she needed someone to whom she could empty her heart. "These people, the former slaves, they still haven't recovered from the ill treatment they received. We still haven't got rid of all the parasites and they still haven't recovered from their long term malnourishment. It doesn't take much to overcome such a weakened organism."  
"Is... is there anything we can do for them?" Tara felt her heart ache in her chest at the thought of children dying practically at her doorstep just because they didn't get enough to eat. "Do you need more food?"  
"We have enough to feed them", Julie said slowly. "But they haven't been fed properly for years, those who were born as slaves have never been fed properly or received any kind of medical treatment. It takes some time to recover, some won't recover at all and remain weak and fragile. They are vulnerable, and we don't have much to protect them. Some pre-war antibiotics would be a blessing, but those don't exist anymore."

At that moment Arcade came out of one of the tents, his face almost as white as his coat. In his arms he held a small bundle wrapped in a length of white cloth. Tara felt her eyes burn when she realised what it had to be.

Arcade passed them by in silence without even acknowledging their presence, making his way towards the group of women. Tara expected another outbreak from the bereaved mother but as the women around her began to sob louder she just turned stock still as she met Arcade's eyes.  
"I'm sorry", the doctor said softly, his voice thick and hoarse.  
The mother took the small, sorry bundle from him, pressed it to her chest and shook her head before she silently turned around. The group of women closed around her and swept her away and out of sight as they vanished between the houses.  
Arcade in turn spun around and headed for another tent into which he vanished with fast but heavy steps. Julie watched him go and sighed before she followed him.

Tara looked at Vincent with a helpless shrug only to realise that her bodyguard was still staring at the gap between the ruined houses where the women had vanished, with an expression on his face she had never seen on him. Before she could ask, however, he had rallied himself and straightened his back again as he forced his face into the usual calm mask of indifference. They made their way to the casino in silence, but even as Tara debated with herself if she should ask Vincent what had upset him so about the group of mourning women, he made the decision for her as they left the elevator. He walked into his room, dropped onto his bed and with his elbows resting on his knees, buried his face in his hands.

Tara leaned into the doorframe, unsure if she should approach him, not knowing what to say. After a few moments, however, he dropped his hands and spoke without looking at her.

"I know that woman", he said.  
"What... the mother?" Tara felt her stomach clench.  
Vincent nodded and she could see him grit his teeth for a moment. "I don't know how or why, but I know her. I... I recognised her."  
"But... how could you..."  
"I recognised her", he gave back in a brittle voice. "I don't know how, but I am sure of it."  
"But what does that mean?" Tara took a step into the room.  
"If I take into consideration that she was a legion slave..." At this, he did look up, and Tara suddenly wished he hadn't. "The child may well have been mine."

With a heavy lump in her throat Tara cautiously walked over to him and lowered herself down beside him on the bed. He didn't move, and neither did he move when she hesitatingly laid an arm around his shoulders.  
"You can't be sure of this", she said softly.  
"No."  
"But then..."  
Vincent sighed and straightened his back before standing up. Tara followed his lead, but he gently pushed the hand she was about to put on his shoulder away.  
"I would like to be alone", he said in a low voice.

Tara nodded and left him to his demons.


	19. Chapter 19

More fanart for this chapter too:

http:/channet(.)deviantart(.)com/gallery/#/d4jr4ef

* * *

The man called Vincent paced back and forth in what had come to be his bedroom in the Presidential Suite of the Lucky38 Casino. He knew this wasn't his name, yet it had taken him surprisingly little time to get comfortable with it. But today, after the latest unpleasant discovery about himself, even if it was only a suspicion and nothing more, he suddenly felt an inner restlessness, like the urge to flee, or like the urge to do... something. Something he couldn't name but that caused something to stir inside him. He spoke his name out loud and realised the sound of it was causing him a deep discomfort.

"Vincent..."

_No. This is not my name._

He sat down on the bed with gritted teeth and clenched fists, suddenly realising that it had to be the other man, his other self, trying to claw his way back into his consciousness. With that realisation came another one: he was content like this. He wanted to remain Vincent, not turn back into that other man, the one with the dreadful memories, the one with the horrible past. He knew beyond doubt he was thinking like a coward, but he also knew that he couldn't fight it. He stared at the door again through which Tara had vanished and closed his eye to let the demons come to him. If he had to face his own demise, he'd rather have it over with.

Nothing happened.

With an angry sound that was almost a growl he shot out of the bed and resumed his pacing again, frustrated, angry, confused and, to his shame, not a little afraid.  
"Coward."

He stopped in his tracks and summoned the fragments of memories that had returned on their own accord.

Suddenly, he could smell burning wood and canvas.

_Gunshots cracked and a breeze smelling of smoke hit his face as he stared down at Hoover Dam, watching the undoing of everything his life had ever been. The Legate's fort was burning, the Legate and those around him dead. He could see similar pillars of smoke further off as well, a tell-tale sign that the Fort was burning too. Not only was the battle lost, everything was lost. He had been about to try and gather stray forces to attempt another attack, but watching the black smoke billow into the sky he knew it to be pointless. Maybe they could attempt to die in battle, but where was the glory in letting yourselves be slaughtered like rats?_

_He looked around and spotted a few dots on the rise above him, small flecks of crimson against the pale desert earth. Ripper still in his hand he made his way towards them, jogging up the rise after the stragglers only to realise upon catching up with them that it was a small group of young recruits, those that hadn't even finished their training, and that all of them were dead. Yet as he turned his head to look down at the dam, behind him someone coughed. He looked around again and found one of the young recruits looking at him with glassy eyes. He knelt down beside the boy, for he was hardly more than fourteen of fifteen years old, and held him up at the shoulders. Blood was trickling out of the boy's mouth.  
"I failed", he rasped. "Caesar forgive me, I couldn't..."  
He looked around, and only now noticed the bodies of a few NCR soldiers. The recruits were all dead, and the one looking at him was about to die, but at least they had taken a few of the profligates with them. There was no use in upsetting a dying boy over a cause already lost. "You have done well", he said. "There will be a place laid at the table for you in the Halls of Mars tonight."_

_The boy looked at him and smiled, an incredulous smile for someone so close to death, then he coughed up some blood and died in his arms. He put the body down and looked around again to see some NCR soldiers come for him. They had to have spotted him and now his time was up, too. He would take a few more of them with him to death._

Had he known, however, what was in store for him and that these three men weren't intent on simply killing him he might have, for the first and last time in his life, taken the coward's path and killed himself instead. Yet he hadn't known, and when he had found out, it had already been too late.

"_Putting that one out of his misery is too good for him, anyway."_ _  
_

The scar through his empty eye socket began to throb. He shuddered once and closed his eye.

_The left half of his face was one fiery pain. His whole body was one clotted mass of pains, so intense it was impossible to tell where one stopped and another began. Above him the sky was blue with a few white mares' tails drifting in a wind too high up for him to feel. A face hovered into view.  
"True to Caesar, asshole."_

_And another pain, swift and brutal, as the boot connected with his face. The crack of bone, the taste of blood in his mouth, the pain... _

Vincent toppled to his knees.

_It was the thirst that got him moving again. He had been staring at the sky above him, watched it grow dark as he waited for death to claim him, yet death had refused to come. But he was close to the dam, all he had to do was drag himself forward to the slope, crawl down to the water and drink. Death would be a relief, but the thirst was burning more than every pain in his broken body. With the last shreds of strength he could summon he dragged himself a little forward, relying on one arm only, as the other was a mass of pain and broken bones and completely useless. Sliding and crawling down the slope pushed him over the edge of what he could still take and his world blacked out, only to return again with more pain than he ever would have thought possible for a man to live with._

_But the rise was behind him, and there had to be water. Water._

Vincent stared at his hands, realising without knowing how, that while he had managed the descent downwards, in his delirious state with his mind muddled by thirst, loss of blood and pain, he had done so on the wrong side of the hill. He had dragged himself forward; before his inner eyes he could see his own, bloodied hands in front of him, the broken fingers digging painfully into the hard-baked dirt in a desperate and simultaneously stubborn attempt to reach the water's edge, yet only succeeding in getting further away from it.

He had ended up at the gates of Freeside, but how on earth he had managed that was a mystery even to him. Force of will? Maybe. He had been made capable of standing a lot of pain. And all in the name of Caesar's glory.

True to Caesar.

A hundred voices suddenly spoke in his head, some yelling, some hardly more than a whisper.

_True to Caesar..._

_...true to..._

_...Caesar... true to..._

_True..._

_...Caesar..._

_...true... to... Caesar..._

_...Caesar..._

Vincent opened his eye again, hands trembling. "True to Caesar..."

_The ropes dug painfully into his wrists, the rough wood of the pole he was bound up against pressed against his cheek and chest. He knew this was as much a warning to others as a punishment for him, but he'd be damned if he gave all those gaping onlookers the satisfaction of breaking. The whip landed on his back, adding another line of fiery pain to all the others, but his lips stayed shut. He would not beg for mercy, he would receive none and only loose what dignity was left to him after having been publicly undressed and lashed to a pole. The whip came down again and he could feel the skin burst under the impact. Blood was running down his back and legs, but his lips stayed shut._

_"Stay your hand!"_

_The next crack of the whip he had been preparing himself for didn't come, and suddenly, a man's face came into view. Harsh lines, short grey hair, piercing blue eyes._

"_You disregarded your orders, but you have received your punishment. I am impressed by your strength, and I am minded to give you a chance to redeem yourself."_

_Blood was still running down his legs and sweat was running down his face, stinging in his eyes. He refused to blink, however, stood that stab of pain like he had all the others, and summoned his voice under control. No hoarse croak, no pathetic whimper. His voice was clear and unwavering, and he was proud of it.  
"True to Caesar."_

_Caesar smiled and nodded. "Untie him."_

_His legs were trembling, but they held his weight. He managed to straighten up, forced himself to stand, ignored the blood trickling down his back and let his eyes sweep over the crowd that was gaping at him in awe. _

"_True to Caesar." If the pain was the price he had to pay for Caesar's benevolence, then it had been well worth it._  
"_You have earned the right to take back your name", Caesar said to him._  
"_Very well. I am..."_

"...Vulpes Inculta..." He doubled over; the fiery pain in his head made his vision waver and almost knocked him out. He forced himself steady and stared at the wall before him until the small imprinted designs on the wallpaper swam into focus again.

"Vulpes Inculta", he said again, not recognising his own voice. It had been damaged beyond recognition, just like the rest of himself. Rougher, somehow, and deeper, not at all like he knew it should be. Gone, like everything else of his former life. Leaving him only with painful, shameful memories.

It was the ultimate irony that fate had swept him here, to the side of the very one person responsible for what had happened to him. After everything that had come to pass, to find himself serving the woman who had become their doom proved to be too much even for him to take. He shook his head, unable to suppress the choked, humourless laughter that escaped him. Even to his own ears, it sounded almost hysterical but he couldn't stop himself.

Only when the door suddenly flew open could he force his mouth shut, make the laughter die off, and he spun around into a crouch to stare up at the woman who had destroyed his old life and had become the centre of his new one.

She stared back at him, into his burning one-eyed gaze, and took a step back as she drew the small knife he had given her.

Yet did he truly mean to kill her? Wasn't it rather obvious that whatever else had happened, she had simply fought for what she believed in and proven to be stronger and better than Caesar? He noticed her knuckles whiten around the handle of the knife. But kill her? What good would it do?

Tara still stared at him as if she expected him to strike any moment. At this he realised that he still crouched on the ground, like a predatory animal poised to jump, and slowly relaxed his back and straightened up. Tara gave him a wary look and didn't drop her guard. He looked at her tense face and the knife, then at her face again.

"This will not be necessary. What would I gain by killing you now?"  
"Revenge?"  
He chuckled mirthlessly. "What good is revenge to me now? Neither will it restore my crippled body nor my former life and the position I held therein."

Unconvinced, Tara still held the knife in front of her, staring at her bodyguard... former bodyguard?... and tried to read what was going on behind his eye. "No satisfaction?"  
"Satisfaction? For what? It would only destroy what little is left to me."  
Tara narrowed her eyes, her lips a thin line. "And what is it to you? Little morsels of pity thrown your way by a bunch of worthless profligates?"  
"As far as I recall it was not pity but my own personal achievement that got me this position."  
"True."

He lifted his eyebrows.

"But I'm still a worthless profligate, ain't I?"  
He thought about this for a moment. "Profligate, sinner, whore... I may be wrong now, I might have been wrong then, but who but the victor decides on right or wrong?", he replied with a small, humourless smile. "Caesar's view of the world and its inhabitants seems rather pointless now."  
"Does that mean you would want to keep your position despite our... differences?"  
"What I want or not is completely irrelevant."  
"Is it?"  
"What with me having remembered, it is." He cautiously took a step towards her, making a point of moving slowly. "I am surprised you did not recognise me, as we met face to face twice before. But since not even my voice has remained unscathed, maybe it is not that surprising, after all. Or maybe... maybe you did not want to recognise me."  
"Face to face?", Tara gave back, and her voice began to tremble. "When? Where?"

He slowly crossed his arms, and as their eyes met, he spoke in a low voice. "The second time was here, on the Strip. The first time, some days before that, was in a town to the south." He paused. "Nipton."  
Tara paled and fell back against the wall with a gasp. "No..."  
A merciless smirk appeared on his face.  
"No... it's not..."  
"Why would I lie now?"  
"I know you're not lying", she replied hoarsely. "But..." She pushed herself off the wall and her facial expression made his smirk die. "But the man I met in Nipton was corrupted and evil to the very core of his soul."  
"And I am not?"  
"Would a corrupted and evil man have come to my aid? Saved the lives of two witless children at the risk of his own?"  
"That was not me", he gave back in what was almost a snarl. "It was a man without memories."  
"And if it was _you_ without your memories? You, without the memories of the wrongs the Legion taught you?"

He silently stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. "You never give up trying to find something good in everyone", he said, in a voice much gentler than he had meant to.  
"It's what I am. It's what I do. And that got me where I am today so..."  
"Yes. You do have a point there."

They silently looked at each other for a moment.

"I'm surprised you can stand my presence", Tara whispered after a while.  
"I am surprised you can stand mine."

Another silence followed these words in which the two of them mustered each other, trying to read each other's minds.

"If I was to put that knife away now, what would you think?"  
"I could be impressed by your courage, or overwhelmed by your stupidity."

She smiled and snorted softly, but without taking her eyes off his, sheathed the knife and slipped it into her vest. "Courage...", she whispered, "...or stupidity?"  
A small smile tugged at his lips. "As I know you to be more intelligent than not to know yourself in danger, I shall settle for courage."  
"In what kind of danger am I then?"  
"Of dying at my hands?"  
"If I believed that, I wouldn't have put the knife away. You told me it wouldn't be necessary."  
"I might have lied."  
"You might."  
"But if you didn't trust my words, then I would have to admit you are not as intelligent as I believed you to be."  
"Really?" She chuckled and shook her head.  
"You don't seem to see me as a threat."  
"Oh, but I do, Vin... well, what should I call you anyway?"  
"Stick to the name we both are used to. It will do."  
"Done. To put it simply... If you wanted me dead, I'd probably be dead already, knife or no knife."  
"Indeed."

Tara smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I won't hold you back", she said after a while. "I can perfectly well understand if you would wish to never see me or this city ever again. I won't alert anyone either. I shall just tell everyone you remembered and wanted to leave. Which isn't even a lie."

And again, the two of them looked at each other, measuring each other up.

"Would you have me gone?", he finally asked, crossing his arms.  
"Are you giving me a choice?" Tara tilted her head with a frown. "I couldn't imagine you'd want to stay, honestly."  
"The more I think about it...", Vincent gave back slowly, "...the more I come to the conclusion that neither is there something I could go back to, nor is there something else for me than selling my skills to someone else. Becoming a mercenary is my best bet. Whereas here..." He broke off and gave her a meaningful stare.  
"But what about the beliefs of a lifetime? Don't they give you troubles now?"

"Beliefs?" Vincent gave her a barren little smile. "What beliefs? Caesar was many a thing, a leader, a warlord, a brilliant tactician and strategist, an impressive spell binder when he had to. He held power and authority beyond comparison. But he was _not_ the offspring of an ancient deity worshipped by a society dead hundreds of years before the big war."  
Tara felt her eyebrows rise of their own accord.  
Vincent noticed this and smirked. "What did they expect? They beat all that superstitious tribal nonsense out of me good and proper, so why should I then go on to replace one superstition with another? I never believed in that 'Son-of-Mars'-nonsense. But I did and I do believe in power. And I know my place. I am no visionary, I am no leader. What I am, however, is one who stands in the light of power to make sure that this light... doesn't fade."

Her mouth hanging open, Tara stared for a second before she became aware of her mindless stare and snapped it shut.

Vincent in turn met her eyes, and his voice was low but strong. "You, Tara, are one of the most powerful persons I have met, maybe even the most powerful one, as you cannot even bring yourself to use violence or repression to make people acquiesce to your authority; and still, they do."  
"Power... So you are the one to make sure that whatever side you're on will retain the upper hand. And when that side loses..."  
"I guess you are referring to Hoover Dam and what came after", Vincent replied, his voice clipped and precise. "It was not by my conscious choice that I ended up here in your service but an odd twist of fate. And that battle was not lost due to mistakes of field officers trying to follow their orders but due to misjudgements of the ones giving those orders. Hoover Dam and the Mojave were lost because Caesar, in his hubris, underestimated you on account of your gender. I shall not make the same mistake."

"In other words, you wish to remain in my service", Tara said after a moment's consideration.  
"And if I would?" Vincent asked. "There remains that issue of... my past deeds. Don't tell me it doesn't bother you."  
"It does bother me", Tara replied. "But I knew all along, and without doubt, what your past might contain. It was clear that you weren't just a grunt but someone highly skilled and highly trained."  
"And thus, highly involved in unforgivable crimes."  
Tara pressed her lips together before replying. "Yes. But there is a difference between theoretically knowing it and actually _knowing_ it."

He didn't reply and just watched her, then walked a few steps away to inspect the cracks in the wallpaper to give her time to think. It wasn't a decision he would have liked to make hastily, and he couldn't imagine she would, either.

"I find I can only agree", Tara said after a long while of thinking, and he turned around to face her again. She looked thoughtful, but not indecisive. She walked up to him now and not for the first time did he realise that she was comparatively tall for a woman so he had to hardly bend his head to look at her face. "If I think about your argumentation, I mean. You've got a lot to gain, or too much to lose, that's maybe putting it better."  
"And that makes me trustworthy enough?"  
She chuckled dryly. "More so than if you would throw yourself at my feet telling me how much you admire my achievements."  
"In other words..."  
"In other words, _Vincent_, I trust you to be shrewd enough to know what you have and to do your best to keep it."  
"I guess that will have to do."  
"For now." Tara smiled again, but still her eyes remained dull. "You could prove yourself to me, you know, if you wanted to."  
"Would that improve your disposition?"  
"It would. But I won't order you to, it's not my style."

He lifted one eyebrow with a small, crooked smile, but Tara looked away and shrugged.

"We'll see how it all pans out", she said. "If I'm still alive come morning, I guess we're off to a good start."

He just inclined his head and, without taking his gaze off her face, he nodded. "Very well then. It speaks for you that you didn't mention things like loyalty or... proclivities."

She narrowed her eyes but didn't comment on it. It was clear that this particular aspect of their former relationship would not only be unsustainable but highly unsuitable, now more than ever. They exchanged another look and Tara nodded one final time before she left his room again, silently closing the door behind her.

When he was alone again, the man called Vincent sat down on his bed and contemplated his fate. Truth to be told, considering his situation and his past, the best he could have hoped for was the fate of a lonely fugitive. What he had received however was so much better that he would be a fool if he didn't accept what had been offered to him, even despite former differences and the problems that would doubtlessly arise from them.

But as he rested his back down on the bed he remembered how Tara had stared down a room full of people accustomed to being leaders themselves, and a tiny smile crept onto his face.


	20. Chapter 20

Tara half expected him gone when she got ready to leave her bedroom that morning, but he was right there, already fully armed and armoured, standing beside the door to the kitchen. Smoothing down her shirt, she looked at him and tilted her head with a slightly melancholy smile.  
"Let me guess", she said. "You think Vincent a slacker for not getting up before me and are rectifying that."  
He didn't reply, and to call his facial expression even the ghost of a smile would have been saying far too much, but the straight line of his lips softened the tiniest bit around the corners of his mouth.

"I assume you already had breakfast", she said as she passed him by.  
"I had."  
Tara suppressed a yawn and hit the switch of the coffee maker. "How long have you been hanging around here then, waiting for me?"  
"As there is neither a clock in here nor a window to judge the sun's position I do not know for sure, although I estimate it to be roughly an hour."

Tara stared at the coffee maker as she waited for her beverage and wondered if she should comment on that. Deciding, however, that she had nothing of value to add, she kept silent, settled down at the table with her coffee and resisted the urge to ask Vincent to join her.

She had become used to his company and had enjoyed it, even though she had never been sure what exactly had been going on between them. They had been more than business partners but less than lovers and the strange suspension this had created still seemed to linger between them. But since that belonged to the past now as it was clear that none of them could or would continue what they had started back then, it wasn't worth wasting time upon.

She tried very hard to push those thoughts aside and focus on present and pressing matters, but every now and then her mind would drift off and whenever she caught herself daydreaming about something that was irrevocably over and that shouldn't have happened in the first place, she scolded herself for it, telling herself firmly that pining and whining wouldn't get her anywhere. There was no use in crying over spilt milk and besides, she had known all along this would happen. Still, Tara had to admit, it hurt.

Freeside was already busy for such an early morning; a sizable workforce was active in the Fort itself, erecting the buildings that would become the Followers' hospital, and behind the Fort a group of workers were laying the foundation of another rather large building. Tara remembered from one discussion with the Followers that they meant to build a school, but it might have been an extension to their current facilities, too. Presently the workers were having a heated discussion about the texture of the mortar.

They skirted a group of boys who were screaming and laughing while kicking and running after a ball made of wadded rags wrapped in string, and their laughter echoed between the houses long after they were out of sight. Beside the entrance of another house that had been renovated, to a degree, to house the refugees who once had been slaves, sat two elderly men; one playing a harmonica and the other beating the rhythm on his thighs with a pair of spoons. Tara had to smile as they passed them by.

Once outside the current city walls she once again was taken aback by how silent it was out here in Outer Vegas in comparison to Freeside, being the part of the city apart from the Strip that Tara knew best. But according to Julie, the people in Westside were thinking about tearing a couple of walls down to unite the two areas, a notion which Tara had strongly and heartily encouraged. The fewer walls inside the city, the better. At one point, or so she hoped, the walls around the Strip would also be gone; but she knew that presently, the Families wouldn't play along.

They passed the caravan compound and the only sounds were the mooing of brahmins and the wind whistling in the ruins. After the lively noise in Freeside, Outer Vegas seemed practically dead.

Out here, large heaps of rubble and concrete blocks of all sizes indicated the former position of the old interstate, but since the priority had been making Freeside safe and accessible no one had yet taken a hand to them. Over the next couple of months, Tara assumed, these heaps too would be salvaged for useable pieces and the rest carted away to the emerging ring wall, presently spanning about a quarter of New Vegas' circumference.

The Gun Runner compound lay quiet as well, and when Tara knocked at the metal gate the sound shattered the silence like howitzer shots. After about a minute a young man with a squint and wearing a baseball cap walked up to the gate, peeked through the mesh and opened it a fraction.  
"Yeah?"  
"Is Isaac available?"  
He snorted up his snot and hawked it out, only narrowly missing Tara's feet. "I'll check."

Tara could practically feel Vincent tense behind her, even though he was standing at least four feet away from her, and she had to admit she wouldn't have minded him using one of his knifes to teach the little fuckwit some manners at all. Not long after that, the two of them, Isaac and the other guy, could be heard coming around a corner.

"What kind of woman?"  
"You know. One of them Freeside bitches."  
"She didn't happen to be escorted by a guy with an eye patch, did she?"  
"Yeah, what about him?"  
"He happens to be the Courier's bodyguard, you fucking lunkhead."  
"What?" A Pause. "Oh sh..."  
"Shut it, Willy, and get your face well out of sight."

They had reached the gate and Isaac walked through, closing it behind him. The guy called Willy cast a hasty, harried look in their direction and vanished into the building.

"Sorry, he's not the brightest, but he's got some amazingly clever fingers, that's why we put up with him." Isaac patted his pockets, produced a pack of smokes, popped one between his lips and lit it. "I guess you're here about that answer I promised you."  
"I am", Tara gave back. "If you already have it, that is."  
"We do", Isaac replied with a grin. "Like I said, we'd be idiots to refuse that and be forced to leave the area and whatnot. We're in. You get the guns, we get the trade."  
"Good." Tara felt a warm glow of satisfaction in her belly. "There's a weapons dealer in Freeside, I'll send him a message to come over for terms of delivery and the like."  
"Good." Isaac tapped the ash of his cigarette and brought it back to his lips, drawing a long breath while a thoughtful frown formed on his face. "The Families will have to buy from us, as well."  
"It was one of the Families' leaders who made the suggestion to offer you monopoly in the first place", Tara replied with a smile. "So if you set fair prices, they won't grumble."  
"We've got no interest of being thrown out of here", Isaac replied after exhaling a large cloud that he politely directed away from Tara. "It's tempting, I'll admit, but we're aware that if we take too much of an advantage of our situation, you'll send some of them robots over here to in a friendly way persuade us to vacate the premises."

Tara was just about to say that she'd never do such a thing when she remembered one of her past discussions with Vincent. Smiling a pleasant little smile, she remained silent. Isaac cleared his throat, inhaled again and tapped his ash off before looking at Tara again.  
"Do we have a deal?"  
"Do you want it in writing?"  
"Wouldn't mind having something for the records."  
"Then you'll get something. I'll draft a contract, send it over, and if you agree you sign it. Or you could come and see me later in the day and we sit down together and draft it. Saves us sending it back and forth ten times before everything is the way we want it."  
"Sounds good", Isaac replied and dropped his butt end to ground it into the dust beneath his heel. "I'll see you later in the afternoon then."  
Tara nodded again and he tipped the brim of his ball cap as a farewell gesture. "Be seeing you." With that, he vanished through the gate again and Tara nodded to herself. "That's settled then."

"If you wish, I could teach the pathetic little creature some manners", Vincent said in a low voice as they headed back to the gate to Freeside.  
"Can't say that thought hadn't crossed my mind", Tara replied with a narrow smile. "It's tempting, but not right now. Next time though by all means, but try not to physically harm him."  
"I didn't need to physically harm Benny to make him mind his way of speaking."  
Tara shot him a glance over her shoulder. "True. And I can't say I didn't enjoy his facial expression, either. But I'm not in the habit of intimidating people."  
"I know."

She looked at him again, but his face showed no clue, so she just shrugged. "I shall rely on your sense of propriety. I'll let you know in time when I disagree."  
"By all means."

Upon entering Freeside, Tara headed for the Fort as she wanted to check with Julie and Arcade on the progress of their current projects, but Julie was nowhere to be seen. Arcade, however, was in one of the tents, treating the badly burnt arm of a man Tara recognised as one of the former powder gangers. Only then did she realise the others were also here, all of them grimy, sweaty, sunburnt and tired.

Arcade looked up when he heard her enter. "Ah. We have another success to announce."  
Tara lowered herself into a crouch on the other side of the chair the wounded powder ganger was sitting on. "A bad case of burns?"  
The man chuckled coarsely. "Yeah, that too, missy. The interstate's down. Finished it last night, made it back this morning."  
Tara looked at his arm with raised eyebrows. "Why didn't you come here at once?"  
He shrugged. "Cause that happened last night and I didn't fancy walking here alone after dark, so I toughed it out. It's just a few blisters, anyway."

"What's next?", another of the powder gangers asked. "Need anything else blown up?"  
"Not presently", Tara gave back and stood up again. "I guess you're wondering what you are supposed to do now."  
"Of sorts."  
Tara smiled thinly. "What were you doing with yourself before the NCR locked you up?"  
"Me; and that's Rick for you, and Gus and Harry here, we were bad boys, like. Robbing caravans. Not much in line of a career, I guess."  
"Not precisely. And what about you other two?"

The youngest of them, a man with dark skin, a shaven head and hardly out of boyhood, shrugged and lit a smoke. "Was in there for burglary."  
"I'm not interested in why you were serving a stretch but what you were doing before", Tara replied.  
The young guy shrugged. "Not much. Lived in an unpopular quarter of Reno. Sniffing glue, jetting, that sort of shit. When I was caught they sent me here into the quarry but man, that's some hard shit. I didn't think twice when some of the guys made a break for it."

Arcade looked up from the arm he was bandaging and gave Tara a worried look. She noticed and rested her eyes on the face of their leader-of-sorts, the one presently being bandaged.

"I'm a deserter", he gave back coldly, as if daring her to call him out on that. "Fucked off during the first battle of the dam. Was caught robbing a caravan and thrown into the joint with the other fuckers, but they didn't find out what I'd been before. Lucky me, I guess. They'd have shot me."  
Tara slowly crossed her arms. "So all of you only know robbery and violence? Has none of you learned a trade or something? A craft?"  
"Hey", the one called Gus said. "We're here because we've been sore fed up with that shit in the first place, missy."  
"I know." Tara looked back and forth between them. "But you got to think of something else."  
"What? Or else you'll throw us out?" The leader gave her a sharp look, but Tara held his gaze.  
"No. But you'll surely agree that sitting here in Freeside with your thumbs up your asses isn't much of a prospect."  
"Fuck, no", he replied with a dry chuckle. "But how about we help guarding the place?"  
"Meaning I should arm you?"

He smiled at her, a little cockily, but friendly.

"You armed us with shitloads of dynamite already", Gus fell in again. "And we didn't harm those hobos in here none."  
"True enough." Tara looked at the men, one after another, and all of them but the youngest looked away first. "What's your name?", she asked him.  
"Dylan." He stared up at her in defiance. Tara held his gaze for a moment longer before lowering her eyelids a little; then she slowly moved her gaze to the man sitting on the chair.  
"They call me Cobra", he said. "And I'm going to keep my name to myself."  
"Fine", Tara gave back. "But you'd best think of something to do. The Families on the Strip don't take employees, they only recruit from their own ranks. In the Wrangler you can't get any position other than hooker. For helping us guard the place, go see the King, he'll size you up. If you like tinkering with weapons, you might want to check the Gun Runners. I'll pay you for the work you've done so far, but I'll give you one friendly piece of advice: Don't let yourself get too bored and do things you'll come to regret."  
Cobra lifted his eyebrows.

"There are a lot of women here", Tara went on, her voice suddenly harsh. "Helpless women who have been slaves and never had any control over their lives. I won't have anyone take advantage of them, and I'll say this only once: Keep your hands off a woman who tells you no. I've no mercy to spare for rapists. And it is me who defines what constitutes rape."  
Dylan sneered at her. "None of us has been in joint for..."  
"I know", Tara interrupted him. "But recently we've lost three girls to a bunch of murderers who raped them and slit their throats afterwards. Worse even, they took money to do it and record it on tapes for whomever it was. So I have a little problem in relying on what men who I don't know properly will or won't do."  
"Understood.", Cobra replied slowly. "None of us fancy going back to the joint."  
"Oh, but I don't imprison rapists", Tara gave back almost sweetly. "I have them shot." With that she turned around and left to look for Julie, and she could feel the eyes of the men in the tent bore into her back.

After enquiring about Julie's whereabouts, she found out that after having been up all night due to a particularly difficult birth she was catching up on much needed sleep. Since she had nothing more important on her mind than catching up on the status here, Tara decided she could come back later, or even the next day. So she headed back to the 38 where she planned on browsing House's library and pass some time doing nothing until Isaac would come by and her attention was actually needed again.

Once inside the elevator, Vincent looked at her. "I would like to go back to the Fort", he said. "I want to speak to Dylan."  
Tara stared at him and narrowed her eyes. "What..."  
He lifted a hand, palm outward. "I do not have a suspicion, if that is what worries you. I only had the impression that he might be... useful."  
"Useful for what?"  
"Useful for you. Angry young men with spirit and courage who also have some brains, especially if they have a wish to make something of their lives, can be shaped into anything you need."

Tara stared at him, forgetting to leave the elevator. The doors closed again and Tara shook her head, hit the button and the door slid open again. After exiting the elevator she leaned against a wall and looked at her bodyguard who had his arms crossed, his eye resting calmly on her face.

"What would you shape him into?"  
"In short, someone like me. A man who sees and hears, a man who knows how to get information without being obvious and knows what to make of it. We have spoken about this before: you need to know what is going on behind your back. I believe it is about time we did something about it."  
Tara took a deep breath. "You want to train young men into being Frumentarii in all but the name."  
"You can call it your secret service. Secret police, if you wish. The name is not relevant, the function is."

He held her gaze, and Tara tried to come to grips with what was so repelling to her about the thought of him training young men as secret agents. After a few moments thought, however, she reached a conclusion.

"I don't think I can consent to Legion training methods", she said.  
Vincent lifted his eyebrows with a twitch of the right corner of his mouth. "Although the Legion utilized violence, pain and humiliation that does not mean I have to resort to the same methods."  
"Can you actually do the job without?"  
"That is something I shall have to find out, but I am confident in my abilities to... improvise."  
"That's what worries me."  
He tilted his head.  
"But still, I have to admit you thinking on your feet is preferable to resorting to violence. I was thinking about those rapists. A clever and well played ruse. You didn't even tell a lie, and let their brains do the rest."  
He accepted the praise with a slight incline of his head.  
"All right then. Go ahead. Me not liking it doesn't change the fact that you're right and I need them. I just have one condition."  
"Yes?"  
She held his gaze firmly again. "Sixteen. No younger."  
He inclined his head again. "As you wish."  
"That feasible?"  
"I shall find out."

She watched him enter the elevator again and as the doors closed, all she could do was head for the kitchen and brew herself another cup of coffee as she waited for Isaac to arrive.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Thanks for all the favs and alerts so far, guys!

* * *

After having laboriously produced, together with Isaac, a contract concerning the Gun Runners and their new position in New Vegas, Tara had spent the better part of the night drafting and redrafting a document for Cass to take back to the NCR with her. Then she had assembled her council again and they had spent three painful days discussing the contents of that document, making amendment after amendment, until everything was phrased to everyone's satisfaction.

During these negotiations Vincent remained dutifully at Tara's side during the days, stoically standing behind her chair hour after hour without so much as shifting his weight every now and then. As soon as the meetings had been concluded for the day and she had retired to the suite, giving him leave, he had disappeared; presumably to talk with Dylan. What about, Tara had only a vague idea, but she didn't question him, not yet, in any case. He had given her no reason to distrust him yet, and since admittedly he was right and she needed some kind of informant network that answered to no one but her, or her position, in any case, he needed to do whatever it was he had to do.

He was away until late into the night, coming back after she herself had gone to bed, and yet he was up before her too, standing ready beside the door to the kitchen every morning. Tara had no fucking clue how he did this on so little sleep, but thinking about what she knew of the harsh and brutal training methods the Legion had employed she didn't want to go into details. She didn't have to.

The last meeting had finished and by now, late at night, Tara had written the final version on a clean piece of paper in as even and steady a hand as she could muster and had also read it out loud, recording it on a holotape. As she wrapped the sheet in a layer of plastic she listened to her recording again to check if she had overlooked something, forgotten something or phrased something wrong.

"_To the government of the New Californian Republic from the Government of New Vegas:_

_Honoured President Kimball,_

_The Free Mojave and the City of New Vegas hereby send you their greetings._

_First of all, let me express my regret about having had to engage in war with you, but as you are the Head of State yourself you will surely know about the necessities of fighting for that which you believe in, for defending that which you have taken responsibility for. But with the war now behind us, I would like to express my wish for peace between us._

_I have no intentions to wage war against you as a country or as a government and would rather have we live in peaceful co-existence. We will not close our borders, and any NCR citizen will be welcomed in the Mojave and New Vegas, but we will not tolerate hostilities towards our people or their property. We offer our hand in friendship to allow for negotiations, as trade is always more mutually beneficial as war. We offer our help and aid, we offer the surplus power of Hoover Dam, and we offer to do our best in holding the Colorado against any threat coming from the east._

_We abide in hope for peace and mutually beneficial relations_

_Tara of Goodsprings, in the name of the Government of New Vegas and the Free Mojave."_

They could only hope the NCR government would see reason and accept the offer of peace. On the other hand, they might just bide their time and equip their forces with a load of pulse weapons to exploit the one weak point of her otherwise almost invincible army. The robots needed human backup, and New Vegas needed its walls. The NCR might or might not be able to invade the Mojave again, but they would find a fortified city defended by human and robot soldiers a hard nut to crack. Maybe she would have to re-prioritise after all and activate a larger workforce to deal with the walls.

Would they need antiaircraft defence against vertibirds?

Rubbing her temples in a fruitless attempt to keep her headache at bay Tara leaned back into her chair and sipped the last coffee that had gone cold on her.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x **_

** Outer Vegas, January 29, 2282**

Cassidy's caravan compound was swarming with people; within the last weeks it had more and more turned into a sort of marketplace. Freeside and Westside inhabitants were busily haggling over produce from the West: tobacco, booze, cloth, chems and weapons. Tara and Isaac had come to the agreement that the import ban for weapons could only be enforced from the next caravan on.

A couple of farm folk were dragging a brahmin calf after them that had no intention of going anywhere, and it mooed and balked and kicked out with its hind legs, only narrowly missing Tara who had walked past the group in search of Cassidy. Vincent gave her a worried look after having jerked her back by the shoulders to drag her out of reach of the kicking hooves, but Tara shook her head with a tired little smile.

The farmers however were mortified when they realised who their newly acquired calf had almost kicked in the stomach and Tara had a hard time keeping them from dropping to their knees and begging her forgiveness. She assured them repeatedly that it wasn't their fault she was so undistinguishable from other folk but they remained oddly unconvinced and went on their way silent, subdued and, as it seemed, still a little afraid. Tara could only pity them; they had been scared and suppressed into obedience to such a degree that they would most likely never be free from fear of what they believed to be their authorities.

She finally found Cassidy in the office, sitting at her former competitors desk, lounging in the chair with her feet propped up on the table. She grinned at Tara when she spotted her.  
"Howdy!" She uncrossed her legs and lifted them off the desk, then left her chair and walked around it to meet Tara with a friendly handshake. "Finally got everything ready?"  
"I have." Tara held out the paper and the holotape. "In writing and as a recording, whatever suits them best."  
Cassidy took the offered documents, for a change with a grave and serious face, and nodded. "Any heads up regarding the trade? Whaddya need most?"

Tara gave this some thought. "We've successfully started building up our own food supply, but seeds would be a blessing. Staple foods, hardy crops that can endure the climate here. I'm sure you can find someone with the knowledge. Meds, and the chemicals to produce them. Cloth and leather. Tools. Raw materials, especially seasoned wood. We sent a few woodcutters to the area around Jacobstown but that wood won't be usable for building for a long while yet."  
Cassidy ran a hand through her hair and scratched the back of her neck. "The whole shite of building a new New Vegas is a whole fucking lot more complicated than we ever could've imagined, huh?"  
Tara gave her an unhappy smile and shrugged. "It is. But even if I had known... Well, the alternatives weren't too attractive, either."  
"Got ya", Cass gave back with a thoughtful frown and Tara wondered if she was thinking about the Legion and what they had done to the man she had married. Or the NCR and what i_they_/i had done to the man she had married.

"There's one more thing", Tara said then and Cassidy looked up again.  
"Yeah?"  
"We struck a deal with the Gun Runners. The particulars aren't important, but the effects are. We have an import ban for weapons and ammunition. Raw materials, metals, chemicals and the like, are okay. But no one is allowed to bring weapons into the Mojave and New Vegas other than what they personally use to defend themselves. The Gun Runners themselves will set up their own trading compound to be able to buy ammunition and used weapons for spare parts or designs and sell their surplus to the caravans. It'll all be set when the next caravans will arrive. If they arrive at all."

Cass stared at her for a second before she snapped her mouth shut and nodded. "Got ya", she said again. "But I doubt if Craig will. He won't like it."  
"Is that..."  
"No, leave that to me. It's not going to be a problem. These are your terms, and we're on your turf. He's my husband, all right, but this is my caravan, and we do as I say."  
Tara suddenly had to bite back a grin upon seeing Cassidy's facial expression; however, she couldn't resist asking: "I don't suppose Craig is actually aware of who's wearing the pants in your relationship?"  
Cassidy laughed, a healthy, hearty laugh, and with her arms set akimbo, she chuckled and shook her head. "Fuck no, I don't think so. He's not stupid, mind, but occasionally he's a bit slow on the uptake. He's also very set in his ways, Craig is."  
Tara couldn't resist another question. "What made you marry him?"  
"Honestly?" Cass still grinned, though her grin softened a bit. "He makes me laugh."  
After staring at her old friend for a moment, Tara realised she was being serious. Imagining Boone's stony demeanour and his emotionless way of speaking, the fact he could make someone laugh was somehow inconceivable. Cassidy noticed her thoughtful frown and shrugged.

"What can I say? Told you I don't like soft men, and, pardon me and all, no pun intended, but he's as hard as you get them. And he makes me feel alive, in a way that I never would've thought possible after soaking myself in booze for as long as I can remember. He's a basket case, sure." She shrugged again. "But we somehow get along just fine."  
"You honestly love him, don't you." Tara smiled again.  
Cass shrugged, her expression softening even more. "I guess so. Wouldn't know what else it is. But anyway, don't you worry about us."  
"I won't", Tara replied, and after a moment, added: "Could you... could you maybe keep an eye out for anyone who might have something to do with the package we talked about?"  
"Can do. But what good will it do?"  
Tara shrugged. "I don't know", she said. "But I've still got the feeling I shouldn't let the matter rest. I mean I've caught the culprits but not the man behind the whole..."  
"As the man behind this is still sitting in the middle of NCR territory it's maybe better if you let the matter rest for now, being as you'd like to get political on them", Cass replied somewhat clipped.  
Tara nodded silently and after a sigh, rolled her shoulders and looked up again. "When are you leaving?"  
Pursing her lips, Cass weighed her head. "Guess we can make off with a small detachment tomorrow morning. Wouldn't need to take a lot with us, only us, a few guards and a cart or two for the supplies. I guess tomorrow is feasible."  
"Good. I'll see you off. Until tomorrow then."

As she left the compound, Tara couldn't help but remember how helplessly in love she had felt with Boone; shortly after she had met him she had thought herself able to help him find back into life, maybe despite everything that had happened to him make him see that life had some good things to offer, like new friends. Or a new love. Obviously, he had found that love, though it hadn't been her. She, on the other hand, seemed to have gotten over him rather quickly which left the question if she really had been in love with him or if that had been more of a case of sympathy through pity.

Whatever it had been, it was over now, but she seemed to herself to be in the habit of falling for the wrong kind of man. From the corner of her eyes she cast a look at Vincent, but if he was aware of it he didn't let on. But he wasn't Vincent anymore but in name, and with an inward sigh Tara forced her mind away from wishing for things she couldn't have and made her way back home trying to think of nothing.

When they reached the suite, however, Vincent gave her a thoughtful look, making a strong impression of having something on his mind but being unsure about how to approach her.

Tara lifted her eyebrows and tilted her head. "Yes?"  
He pressed his lips together for a second before answering. "It might be a good idea not to mingle so much with the citizens."  
"Are you referring to the brahmin incident from earlier?"  
"Yes. You could have been hurt and for no other reason than being amidst a horde of commoners and their cattle at that. You are too important for that. You could employ messengers for this kind of task."  
"I like to manage these things myself, thank you. And besides..."  
Vincent lifted his eyebrows in return.  
Tara sighed and dropped her arms. "What?"

"May I speak freely?"  
"By all means."  
"Very well. Then I may tell you that this is one of those instances where I cannot seem to keep you safe from your own stupidity. Mingling with the commoners is as well, but you get too close with all those people, and as was proven today, endanger yourself more than necessary. If people would readily recognise you as what you are things might improve..."  
"Are you suggesting I should dress like the Queen of Vegas?", Tara snapped at him.  
Vincent gazed levelly at her. "No. But seeing as you are not that distinguishable, people will insult you and endanger you by sheer accident if you don't keep yourself apart from them."  
"And employ messengers."

"And employ messengers. Firstly, you are too important to come to harm while ambling aimlessly through the city. Secondly..."  
"Are you lecturing me?", Tara asked sharply and crossed her arms.

Vincent straightened his back and pressed his lips together for a second. Then he took a breath and inclined his head. "I apologize", he said slowly. "It was not my place. But would you listen to my advice?"  
Tara leaned back against the wall. "Go ahead."  
"Thank you. I gather that you would like this big dream of yours, this independent New Vegas and the Mojave, to outlast your own span of life?"  
Tara blinked in confusion as she looked at him. "...yes?"  
"Then you have to delegate things", he went on. "If you keep on doing everything yourself, things will keep on running as you want them to only until you are no more. If you want your dream to outlive you, then you have to make yourself expendable."  
Tara stared up at him with a pale face. After a long, heavy silence, she swallowed and shook her head. "You're right, aren't you. Absolutely right. But..."  
"Time will tell", Vincent replied in a low voice. "But sooner or later, you will have to let go, so you have to make sure other people can run things as well as you do, otherwise everything will fall to ruin shortly after your eventual demise."  
Tara stared at her feet and a heavy sigh heaved her shoulders. "I didn't think of it like this before."

Vincent remained silent, as there was no need to rub it in.

When Tara looked up again, she sighed again and shrugged. "At least I am proven right in my decision of keeping you around", she said with a small, crooked smile. "Your advice continues to be invaluable."  
He inclined his head again. "Thank you."

Tara went to bed shortly afterward but despite her heavy tiredness, she could find no rest. The things Vincent had said kept churning her mind, over and over again, until she was about to go mad from listening to them.  
In the end, she eventually fell asleep, but her sleep was fitful and left her in a foul mood, still tired to the bones. The day turned out to be even more unpleasant than that, however.

The suite was empty. Vincent's room was empty. All his things were gone, including the caps she had insisted on paying him.

Vincent was gone.


	22. Chapter 22

It was hard for Tara to admit how vulnerable she suddenly felt, walking the streets of Freeside alone after having had a bodyguard for so many weeks now. Even though she had armed herself with her magnum, she couldn't suppress a mild nervousness.

She entered the King's compound, as he was now the only one who could help her, and found him at his usual table, his dog at his side.

"Tara, welcome, what can I..." he frowned and looked past her, then shot her a worried look.  
Tara could only shrug. "Yes, he's gone. I assume he remembered and couldn't stand it any longer. Guess I'm lucky to still be alive."  
The King made an inviting gesture towards the other chair at his table. When Tara had sat down, he leaned forward. "And now?"  
"Now? Now I need one or two of your men. It felt kind of weird to walk the streets alone, I can tell you."  
"I can guess", the King replied. "I'll get you a couple ready, but they'll have to work in shifts, so it's not going to be the same two boys all the time. Don't think I can inspire them to a sense of duty like your... like Vincent had."  
Tara nodded and stared at the table. "Thanks. I need to get going, though; I need to see the caravan off."

The King nodded as well, waved Pacer over and conferred with him in a low voice after which the latter vanished to come back somewhat later with two Kings in tow clad in leather jackets.

"That one's Paul", The King introduced them. "The other one with the reddish hair is Tommy." And to the two men, he went on: "You keep the lady safe like you would keep me safe. Just remember she's far more important than me. Understood?"  
"Yes." Tommy hooked his thumbs into his belt.  
"Understood", Paul added, straightening the collar of his jacket.  
"Thanks", Tara said to the King. "I'm sorry that..."  
The King waved this aside. "Please. It's my pleasure as well as my duty. We'll keep you safe, at least until you've found a replacement. If that happens, that is."  
"I somehow doubt it", Tara replied. "He was one of a kind."  
"Yeah, a bit of a shame, although some people will doubtlessly be glad about him being gone."  
Tara got up and gave the King another nod. "Doubtlessly. I'll be seeing you."

With her two new guards at her side, Tara left the compound and made her way through Freeside with her eyes fixed straight ahead.

Upon entering the caravan compound she realised that everything and everyone was set and ready to go; all just waiting for her. With a deep sigh, she pushed herself through the crowd of caravaneers, guards and onlookers to reach Cass's side.

"Hey there, what took you?"  
Tara jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Needed a replacement."  
Cassidy narrowed her eyes. "What happened to that piece of sex on legs you had hanging around behind you?"  
Tara suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "He quit."  
"Oh."  
"Yes. Oh. Guess he remembered after all."  
"Nice of him not to slit your throat while he was at it", Cass gave back.  
"Yeah, I thought that, too. And here I..."

"Tara!" That was Boone. "What kept you?" Then he noticed the two guards behind her and crossed his arms. "Fucked off on you, huh?"  
"Yes", Tara replied tartly. "You have the satisfaction of being able to say: told you so."  
"But he won't." Cass put a hand on Boone's shoulder while giving him a stern look. "There's no need to pour vinegar into that wound, Craig. Don't be an ass."  
"She had it coming, she can take it", Boone snapped back. "If you let a viper sleep in your bed you shouldn't be surprised when you're bitten."  
"He didn't sleep in my bed", Tara snarled. "He..."  
"Yeah, I know it's not my business who you fuck with, but..."  
"I didn't fuck him!"  
"Craig, stop being an asshole! Think insulting her is going to help our mission?"  
Boone bit back a reply.

"I guess you didn't pay attention when people gossiped about Vince", Tara said after a tired sigh. "And I somehow have the feeling you won't believe me, but I'll tell you nonetheless. Know what happened to him? He was tortured, tortured on the battlefield of Hoover Dam. I found a few dead Legionaries who had similar injuries as he had, and all of those were dead. Shot with a service rifle."  
"So? Legion uses those weapons too as spoils of war", Boone snarled back.  
Tara felt her stomach begin to boil with fury. "Yeah, of course. And do you have a proper explanation as to why Legionaries on the verge of losing a battle would turn on each other, torture their comrades, rape them and shoot them, all with the same weapon?"  
"They're sick fucks! Who else could've done it?"  
"Who else? Who else was there? My robots? It was your precious NCR soldiers that did it! A group of them, most likely, frenzied by losing a battle and taking it out on already overcome enemies! All of those dead Legionaries had been wounded by gunshots. Someone found these helpless men, tortured and raped them and then put them out of their misery. Only with Vince, they didn't shoot him. I don't know why or..."  
"NCR soldiers don't do that shit!", Boone growled, his face having flushed a deep purple during Tara's last sentence. "And you'd better not be giving me any more of that shit without solid proof!"  
"Proof? What proof do _you_ need, Craig Boone? You of all people? You of all people should know what soldiers are capable of during a battle!"

His face went dead white within a second and Cass used that moment of silence to intercede again.  
"Craig." She took hold of both his arms. "I heard that, too. You can't..."  
"Yeah, go right ahead and fall into my back", Boone said in a toneless voice. "Fine. That you'd use that against me, Tara... I trusted you, god damn it. I trusted you..."  
"And I trusted you", Tara gave back in a low voice. "And all you did was insult me after we met again. Your hate is eating you, Boone."  
"Just take a breather, Craig, and stop speaking before switching on your brain." Cass squeezed his arm again. "I was in the Fort, y'know. Wanted to know about that guy, cause... hell, I admit it, something about a Legion fucker in here was rubbing me wrong, too. Spoke to the docs there. Told me that the poor fucker had been cut to pieces. Broken bones, burns, you name it. They cut his balls out of his nutsack, Craig. Fuck, they cut his fucking dick to shreds, and he's never gonna fuck anyone ever again. He couldn't pop a boner if the three most beautiful women of the Mojave jumped with their cunts into his face. He couldn't have fucked Tara if they both had wanted nothing more."  
Boone shook her hand off and emitted a non-committing growl.

In the awkward silence that followed, Tara suddenly realised that the whole exchange had taken place in the midst of a vast crowd of people, Freesiders and Westsiders, farm folk and caravan employees. Suddenly she was almost glad that Vincent wasn't present to hear the discussion he was the subject of.

After a few moments of shuffling, cautious coughing and the clearing of multiple throats, Boone rolled his shoulders and snorted softly. "He's a Legionary. Whatever he gets, he deserves it."  
"But does that make the things these men did to him any less wrong?"  
Boone was grinding his teeth so hard it was audible. Tara winced at the sound, and he finally relaxed his jaw again and shrugged. "Guess not", was all he said before he turned around and vanished into one of the cabins.

Cass let out a long, heaving breath. "Jesus fucking Christ on a fucking piece of toast."  
"You took the words right out of my mouth." Tara rubbed her hands down her face. "This day has me already worn out and it's not even ten a.m."  
Cass patted her shoulders. "Try to look at it this way", she said cheerfully. "It can't get any worse, can it?"  
Tara didn't dare to reply on that, lest she would tempt the devil.

The caravan left the compound shortly after that, and as Tara watched them go, all her hopes of a peaceful relationship with the NCR resting on them, when she suddenly realised she wasn't only without a proper bodyguard now. Vincent's advice had been invaluable as well and no amount of other people's wits could replace it. She wondered if he even knew how harsh a blow he had dealt her, but didn't really care to know the answer.

_And I honestly though he cared, in a way_, she thought to herself. _I guess it's hard 'cause that was actually the first time I've been dead wrong about someone_. _But considering what kind of a man he was, or is, that shouldn't really come as a surprise_. She kept staring at the vanishing caravan until only a column of dust showed where it ambled along, and tried to keep herself from wondering where Vincent was right now and what he would be doing.

On her way back through Freeside Pacer sought her out, telling her the King would like to speak to her. She nodded and followed him to be greeted by the King again whose table was now covered in papers.

"Sit down", he said smiling, waving a very chewed-on pencil.  
Tara sat and fervently wished for a drink. The King gave her an inquiring look and sent Pacer off for coffee. Rarely had Tara felt so grateful when her fingers closed around the steaming cup.  
"Now", the King said after he had fortified her. "I set up a rota for my boys. You'll always have two of them, and they'll be taking six-hour shifts, twenty four-seven. Me and Pacer are keeping an eye on the plan, so you can rely on us."  
Tara looked at the paper, covered tightly in neat, small script. "At night, too?"  
"At night, too. They can hang around downstairs in the casino level to make sure no one enters. Since we work them in six-hour shifts they won't need a place to sleep."

Tara nodded and sipped her coffee. It was strong as a deathclaw on buffout , bitter and with a hint of whiskey. It was bliss.

"That okay?"  
"It's perfect." She took a healthy gulp of the hot coffee that pleasantly burned its way down into her stomach. "I really appreciate your efforts."  
"Well, I took the job, so I'd better do it properly. Too much at stake here for sloppiness."

Tara managed a smile and took another sip. Slowly she felt a bit of her strength return with the brew and she took another one to keep it going.

The King saw her out and on her way shortly afterwards. With the two men trailing behind, Tara hurried back home as she couldn't stomach another enquiry about the whereabouts of her bodyguard.  
The two guards stayed, as agreed upon, down in the basement level and Tara made her way up alone, pacing restlessly through the empty suite until she could stand it no longer and relocated into the cocktail lounge.

She spent the rest of the day and the better part of the night there, mostly staring out of the window to the south and west, where Cassidy and her caravan were making their way towards the Mojave Outpost and the pass that would lead them to California.

All the wondering about Cassidy and the message did little to take her mind off Vincent, however. Tara kept staring out into the night and at one point realised that what was disturbing her most was that things just plainly didn't fit together. He had told her she was his best bet. He had given her advice even after he had remembered. He had even begun to set up a sort of secret service that he would be the leader of. Why on earth would he then fuck off on her, so suddenly and without any kind of warning? She pondered this and chewed on it until she was about to go mad with her thoughts running in ever more tightening circles when suddenly a thought hit her so randomly and sounded so strange that it almost felt as if someone else had spoken it, but there was no one but her. It also made her blood run cold.

_What if he went like that because he knew you would have told him no had he asked your permission?_


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: This journey is a piece of head canon my beta and I spent hours on, digging through Wikipedia and google maps (After referencing the FO2 map with google maps we decided Shady Sands is somewhere in the area of Mammoth Lakes, CA, but please, don't nail me down on that). As neither of us has ever set foot across the Atlantic I hope no one will be upset if we don't get some things exactly right, but internet research can only get you so far. Am I taking this far too serious? I probably am. :)

* * *

** Mojave Outpost, January 31, 2282**

They had left the Outpost and the Mojave behind and were now travelling west with the rising sun at their back that cast long shadows ahead of them. The brahmin picked her way carefully down the old tarmac road that was hardly more than a gravelly slope, but once they had managed the descent, travelling would be a lot faster on even ground.

Shortly before the road levelled out, however, Cassidy, who as usual was in the lead together with Boone, spotted someone sitting on a large boulder beside the road. That someone was watching the caravan approach, but neither did he move nor did he seem to be armed.  
By the time the caravan had reached him he had jumped down from the boulder and Cassidy noticed a few more details: He was wearing black leather armour and had a small knapsack slung across his back. He was armed, after all, but his gun was holstered and now he positioned himself in the middle of the road, arms outstretched to signal peace. After a few more yards Cassidy realised he was wearing an eye patch and to judge by the sharp hiss Boone emitted beside her, he had seen it, too. Cassidy however, while no friend of the Legion at all, didn't harbour such a particular, burning hate inside her and put a hand on Boone's arm.

"Come on, Craig, I'm sure he has his reasons. Please, try to pull yourself together and let me handle this. I've got a feeling about this."  
Boone exhaled sharply through his nose but nodded as the caravan came to halt in front of the waiting man.

"Hello Vince", Cassidy said conversationally, yet cautiously, her shotgun still in her hands and not on her back. "Fancy running into you here."  
Vincent, or the man they called Vincent, just inclined his head. "I was, in fact, waiting for you."  
"Yeah, I thought as much. Not much chance involved running into someone on this road here. What brings you here?"  
"I would ask your permission to travel with you."  
Boone could hold his silence no longer. "What? And you think we..."  
"Craig..." Cassidy patted his arm. "Let's just hear him out, shall we?"  
"Thank you", Vincent gave back. "As I said, I would like to travel with you, because the journey is a rather long and dangerous one for a single man, as you surely know."  
"The fuck do you want in NCR territory, huh? Huh? I tell you..."  
"Craig." Cassidy's voice rose ever so slightly with an edge of warning in it. Then she looked at Vincent again, a long, boring look, before she slung her shotgun onto her back. She crossed her arms and took another deep breath. "This is about the fucking package, isn't it."  
"Indeed."

They stared silently at each other before Cass tapped her right arm with the forefinger of her left hand. "And what do you know about this that we don't?"  
"Nothing", Vincent gave back with a hint of a smile. "But something tells me that there was more to the whole affair than just a commissioned rape. The threat is not gone yet."  
Cass resumed her tapping and frowned. "What makes you so sure of that?"  
"Do you really believe that someone who went to such lengths, spinning such a dangerous cover story and who doubtlessly spent a lot of money on the whole scheme would give up that easily? Especially if there is no trace leading back to him other than a vague, sneaking suspicion? Not even his exact whereabouts are known. Why shouldn't he dare a second attempt?"  
"Hm." Cass dropped her arms and hooked her thumbs into her belt. "Got a point there. But if there's no lead, then how are you planning on picking up a track?"  
"I shall have to find out. There is nothing for me but try. Aut viam inveniam aut faciam."  
"Ey?"  
"I'll either find a way or make one."  
"Ah."

"Cass."  
"What?"  
Boone relaxed his jaw just about enough to speak. "You're not honestly thinking about letting that snake travel with us?"  
"In fact, Craig, I am."  
"Are you serious? He's just proven you can't trust him! Everyone was going on about him being the Courier's fucking bodyguard and here he's fucking off on her just like that." Then he turned to Vincent. "Why didn't you stay in Vegas keeping her safe if that's what you do instead of running around on a wild goose chase?"  
"It is true I left her side", Vincent gave back smoothly. "I weighed all options and believe me, it wasn't an easy decision to make. But in the end, the biggest threat for the Courier's life is not a random assassin or an accident from which the King's men can keep her safe as well as I could. It is there, with whomever it was that is behind that dangerous scheme and who... happens to reside within NCR territory. And I shall find and eliminate that threat or die trying."

A long silence followed his words before Cass pushed her hat back and scratched her forehead. "You're being pretty serious about this."  
"I am. I understand the distrust you have for me. Believe me..." Vincent cast a look at Boone. "If I had seen any other way instead of humiliating myself like this to improve my chances of success I would have done so."  
"Yeah, I pretty much think so." Cassidy pushed her hat back into place and nodded. "But this is about Tara's safety, and I seriously fucking owe her one. You can come along then."

Vincent nodded and stood aside as the caravan got going again, yet Boone waved him over with a flick of his gun. "You're not thinking about staying at the rear, are you? 'Cause I won't have you at my back, snake. You'll stay here where I can keep an eye on you."  
"Very well", Vincent gave back; his mouth a thin line and his eye dark obsidian.  
Cassidy looked back and forth between the two and snorted. "I don't fancy keeping you two from each other's throats for the rest of the journey."  
"'s long as he don't make a false move we won't have any problems", Boone gave back darkly.

Vincent didn't reply and kept on staring straight ahead.

A few moments later, Cassidy looked at Vincent again, struck by a thought. "Hey, Vince?"  
He turned his head. "Yes?"  
"There's no saying when the next caravan goes back there. Howd'ya gonna make it back?"  
"If I make it back or not is completely irrelevant right now", Vincent replied, his face betraying no emotion. "This only will become an issue if I succeed in my task."

Cassidy shot a glance at Boone but he kept on staring straight ahead. Not knowing what to reply to a chilling statement like this she kept her silence and thought that if whomever it was who was behind the scheme knew that Vincent was coming for him, he would hightail it out of the NCR as fast as possible. She felt that she wouldn't hold it against him, even if he deserved what might be coming for him.

That night, they made camp next to a large rock that had broken off from the cliffside long ago, forming a little hollow between its curve and the face of the cliff and thus creating a shelter from the wind from three sides. Once the brahmin was watered and hobbled the men picked up their gear from the wagon and found themselves places to settle down, then assembled around the fire again where Cassidy had, in the meantime, hung up a large kettle over a tripod and was stirring together some kind of stew made of jerky and vegetables.  
"We don't have enough food what with one person more", Boone said in a low grumble as he received his bowl from Cass.  
"Don't be an ass, Craig", was the reply. "We wouldn't have enough food anyway. We always have to hunt as well." With that, she handed Vincent a bowl that was filled almost right up to the brim, just like all the others. He accepted the bowl with a nod and settled down with his back against the cliff.

"Say", Cassidy began conversationally after she had settled down between Vincent and Boone. "Tara told us you'd remembered who you were... or are... anyway, she told us you'd fucked off on her because you remembered and didn't fancy staying."  
Vincent put his spoon into the bowl. "She is right about the former", he gave back slowly. "She is wrong about the latter."  
Cass stirred in her bowl. "Why didn't you tell her?"  
He didn't reply at once. When he did, it was with a deep frown. "I didn't want to act against her orders. Most likely she would not have let me go."  
"And most likely she'd have been right", Boone interjected.  
Vincent looked up at him and shrugged. "Time will tell."  
"So you just go and do stuff you know she'll disapprove of? What kind of employee are you?"  
"I am her personal protector", Vincent gave back. "When she hired me she told me to keep her safe, including protecting her from her own... weaknesses, as far as possible, which is precisely what I am doing. I see and eliminate threats she is unaware of."  
"And what if she tells you to fuck off when you come back?"  
He shrugged again. "That is a risk I shall have to take."

"Craig." Cass put down her bowl beside her. "Look. This isn't about Vince. This is about Tara." And to Vincent, she went on: "Is there any way we could help?"  
"Nothing apart from trying to keep my mission secret. I shall leave your caravan as soon as we get close enough to territory where my presence could cause you any trouble."  
"And you expect us to simply smuggle a Legion spy into the heart of NCR territory?" Boone glared at Vincent over the rim of his bowl.  
"I know perfectly well what my past contains, it is unnecessary to remind me of it. And I am not spying for the Legion but for the Courier."  
"Craig, he's trying to put his past behind him, can't you see that?"  
"You're too soft-hearted, Cass. I don't trust him."  
"Tara trusted him."  
"But that was before he fucking knew who he was! And then he fucked off on her!"

Vincent had looked back and forth between the two during that last exchange. Now he held up a hand. "Excuse me. Between the one event and the other lies a time span of more than three days."  
Boone faltered and exhaled slowly through his nose. Before he could speak, however, Cass did. "So she... she knew you'd remembered? Did she... did you tell her your name? Or anything?"  
"I told her everything there was to tell", Vincent gave back. "And she decided not to send me away."  
"And? You one of Caesar's ass licking officers?"  
Vincent shot Boone a look of open contempt before his face settled back into his neutral mask again. "I don't see how this is any of your business."  
"If Tara trusts you, then that's good enough for me", Cass said, a tiny edge to her voice. "Must be hard putting that kind of past behind you. Gotta give a man a chance, Craig."  
"Some people don't really deserve a second chance", Boone replied darkly which earned him a disbelieving look and a nasty little smirk.

"Indeed", Vincent said slowly. "It was to be expected that you of all people should know everything about putting one's past behind him, and of second chances."  
Even in the darkness Boone's face visibly flushed a dark purple. "Is that so", he growled. "I gather Tara had your ears ringing about me all the time. Must've been good for a laugh, huh?"  
"You are ascribing far too much importance to your own person. She never spoke a single word about you."  
"Then..."  
"Might I remind you that the Legion had their own sources of intelligence, a network of spies and infiltrators? They knew all there was to know about you, Craig Boone, long before the battle of Hoover Dam."  
Boone shot upright, gathering up his rifle as he did so. "Gonna take first watch", he growled and vanished into the darkness. Cass watched him go with a sigh.

"If you would rather have me gone, I will be on my way", Vincent said slowly.  
"It's not you that's the problem, it's him", Cass replied. "It's... it's mostly about his first wife. You know...?"  
"Yes, I do."  
"You don't have... I mean... you wouldn't know who..."  
"No. Neither have I any idea who captured her nor who it might have been who was about to buy her. Not that it would make a difference, with whomever it was most likely being dead anyway. All I can say with certainty is that it wasn't me."  
"That would've been fucking awkward for sure."  
"Indeed."

In the silence that followed his last word, the only sound was the crackling of the campfire. The three other guards had already either positioned themselves or hit the sack to be fit for their own turn.

"Say..."  
Vincent looked up again. "Yes?"  
"That intelligence..."  
"What about it?"  
"Was there, by chance... anything about me also?" Cassidy finally looked at him seemingly more amused than worried.  
"There was", Vincent gave back truthfully. "Although I do not care to repeat it. It was rather... demeaning and outright rude."  
Unexpectedly for him, Cass simply broke out into a laugh. "I'd dare say", she chuckled. "But I don't want the details, either."

After staring silently into the flames for a long time, Cass stretched out her legs before her and lit up a smoke. Vincent declined the offered pack, so she slipped it into her pocket again before leaning back and blowing out a large, drawn-out cloud. "You know", she began. "I meant it when I said I owe Tara one. If it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't have this caravan here. Would be a nobody, all I owned would be the clothes on my back and the bottle in my pocket. I fucking owe her everything I have, and I also meant it when I said I'd like to help."  
"I do very much appreciate it", Vincent said. "But as I said, apart from keeping my presence a secret, there is nothing you can do."  
"That's shouldn't be too much of a problem. These three guys, the guards? Picked them up on the way there, drop them off on the way back again. Told me they didn't quite fancy being caravan guards after all. So they'll get their pay once we reach the ramshackle piss puddle of a town where they came from and be on our way again."  
"Without guards?"  
"'s not gonna be more than a day's travel to Shady Sands. There's no raiders that close to the capital."  
"I could imagine that being so."  
"Ever been there?"  
"No."

Cass exhaled another cloud of smoke, blowing it straight ahead with her head dropped back. After another moment, she lifted her head again and looked at Vincent with a frown. He noticed her stare and raised his eyebrows.

"Mind if I ask you something?"  
"I may not answer."  
"Fair enough." Cass smiled and tapped the ash off her cigarette. "What do you think about all these little persistent rumours of... about you and Tara?"  
He crossed his arms. "Why are you asking that?"  
"Just plain, blatant curiosity."  
"I guess these rumours persist because my condition is not publicly known."  
"Condition?"  
"The particulars are definitely not your business, but..."  
"Oh, that condition. Must've hurt like shit to have your balls cut out of your nutsack."  
He cast her a sharp look. "You are being very straightforward with a man you hardly know."  
"It's how the guys like me." Then she flashed him a slightly apologetic grin and shrugged. "Sorry. I know my mouth's gonna be the death of me one day."  
Vincent shook his head, and the left corner of his mouth twitched. "Probably."

Cass inhaled another cloud of smoke and exhaled it again through her nose.

Vincent stared into the flames for another long while before he shrugged and continued speaking without looking at her. "It did, although they took only one of them. Then they made me swallow it."  
Wincing, Cass dropped her smoke. As she groped around for the cigarette she couldn't meet Vincent's eye. "That's... that's pretty... uh... horrible I guess, though that doesn't quite cover how that makes me feel."  
Vincent shrugged again, still staring into the fire. "I try not to think about it."  
"I gather." Having found her smoke Cass needed two deep draughts to calm down. "How can people do something like that?" Her voice was a little shaky.  
"Do you mean how could they, or rather how did they make me?"  
"The former, though I must admit I can't imagine anyone getting you to do something like that."  
"As much as it shames me, for each man there is only so much he can take." Vincent kept on staring into the flames, his voice gone cold. "And while they did not cut off my penis they rendered it completely useless and made sure I would never bed a woman again. I am still a man to look at, but the only thing I still can do like a man is urinate. I hope that satisfies your curiosity because I do not wish to talk about this any further."  
"I'm kinda sorry I ever brought it up", Cass muttered around the cigarette clamped between her lips. "Jeez, I'm gonna have nightmares just thinking about this. Imagine being in your hide..."  
"Don't."

Cass didn't dare to look at him anymore, and the sound of his voice made a violent shudder creep down her spine. She stared into the fire again as a log breaking apart sent a shower of sparks high up into the dark and silent night.

* * *

http:/channet(.)deviantart(.)com/art/Vincent-and-Kass-275912807


	24. Chapter 24

**The Strip, February 1, 2282**

Just from the sheer need to get out of the windowless suite and to have no glass separating her from the air outside, Tara had left the 38 that morning, ambling aimlessly up and down the Strip, visiting the Casinos one after another, spending a few caps in each of them just to show some goodwill on her part. The Families had done a lot for her, had put up with a lot as well and Tara wanted them to have a little of their own back, even if it was more symbolic than anything else.

Coming out of the Gomorrah, however, the last one on her tour, a runner coming from Freeside and the Fort reached her, urgency and anxiety written all over him.

"Dr Farkas needs you at the Fort!"  
"God, what is it now..." With a muttered curse under her breath Tara broke into a run and followed the messenger through the gate and down the boulevard, past the King's compound and through the gate into Freeside proper. The moment she passed the entrance, she saw what had made Julie send for her: A large crowd of people were gathered on the place in front of the Fort.

Tara's first thought was of another mob, but as she got closer, she realised that whatever had brought these people here, violence was the last thing on their minds.

They huddled together in smaller groups, children clinging to their mothers, tired men with empty eyes and only sparsely armed, if at all. All of them were dirty and looking more than half starved. Especially the children, staring empty-eyed at their parents, faces gaunt and bellies swollen with hunger, made Tara's stomach churn.

Julie spotted her and went to meet her a few yards away from the gate. "Thank god you're here!"

Tara tried to catch back her breath while she swept her eyes across the crowd. She noticed a few women walking among them, handing pieces of bread to the children who grabbed and devoured the food with single-minded determination. "Who are these people? Where did they come from?"  
Julie smoothed a strand of her hair back, and Tara suddenly realised that she hadn't seen her wear her trademark spiky hairstyle for god knows how long. These days, she usually tied the longer parts back in a ponytail, probably to save time.

With a deep sigh, Julie swept her eyes over the crowd as well before looking at Tara again. "They're refugees."  
"Refugees?" Tara ran a hand through her own hair to smooth it back. "But where..."  
"Bitter Springs."  
Tara snapped her mouth shut, a cold shiver creeping down her spine. "What?"  
Julie pressed her lips together before she sighed again. "They're the refugees from Bitter Springs. The NCR left them supplies but first now could they bring themselves to ask for our help. They were trying to make do, but now the last of the supplies are gone, and what little ammunition they had, too."

Tara shook her head, still trying to get her head around the whole affair. "But why... why didn't they come before they were all half starved to death?"  
Julie could only shrug. "They were afraid you'd associate them with the NCR."  
Unable to suppress a groan of despair, Tara closed her eyes and stared at the sky for a second. "Julie... what kind of a reputation do I have outside of these walls?"

A baby wailed thinly, a pitiful whining that wouldn't stop.

Both Tara's facial expression and the sound of her voice made Julie's heart sink. "Tara", she gently began, trying to offer some comfort. "All that these people know is that the Courier drove the NCR out. It's got nothing to do with reputation. They didn't have electricity and not a single working radio, so how could they actually know anything about you?"  
Tara took a deep breath and slowly shook her head. "I guess you're right but... god, Julie, how many children have already died just because they didn't dare ask for our help?"  
Julie placed a hand on Tara's shoulder. "Don't waste your time asking things like these. They're dead and beyond any help. Don't ask why and why not, just don't. It's one of the first things they teach you back in the Boneyard, when you begin your medical training. It's the living who need you. Don't waste time upon the dead as long as there are living people who need your help. The only thing you can do is focus on the ones you can help, and stop worrying about the ones you can't. Because otherwise you'll lose some of those you could have saved because you wasted your resources on mourning before mourning was due."  
"You're right, aren't you. How do we feed them?"  
Julie gave her shoulder another gentle squeeze before letting go. "I've already sent some people to the farms to fetch what can be spared. I..."

"Julie! Tara!" It was the King, hurrying over, a couple of his men trailing after. "What in god's name is going on here? What kind of refugees? Pacer didn't make sense for two caps!"  
"Bitter Springs mean anything to you?", Tara asked.  
The King pursed his lips and nodded. "More than I like. What happened? Did the place burn down?"  
Tara looked at Julie for assistance.  
"The NCR left them supplies and ammunition, but they've run out", Julie fell in. "They didn't dare come here for help because they were afraid we'd treat them like the NCR."  
The King had gone a little pale upon noticing the crowd of starved people. "What can I do?"

Julie shook her head with a shrug, but Tara's mind had finally sprung into gear. "Send a couple of your boys to Mick and Ralph. Tell Mick to give you all the hunting rifles and ammo he's got, also tell him I'll be paying for them as soon as I get to it. Send someone else to the Gun Runners too. Then dig out everyone who knows the right end of a rifle from the wrong one and get hunting teams going. Geckos, molerats, bighorners. Especially the bighorners, they've got the best meat. There are lots of wild ones in the north-western hills."  
"Got it", the King replied and immediately turned to his men. "You heard what she said. Get going."

Tara watched the men disappear, furiously thinking of what else they could do. "Find a few men who know their weapons and let out word we need a lot of volunteers to gather food. Men with guns..." She snapped her fingers. "Send someone to the Wrangler. Ask for the man called Cobra, he might be in there, or one of his men might. Tell him to get his men together and come here." She waved the young man over who had played the messenger for Julie earlier on. "You!"  
He trotted over. "Yeah?"  
"Gather me about... a dozen people, they're to bring bags and baskets. They'll have an armed escort. We need people to gather what edibles they can find out there. Mesquite pods, pinto beans, cactus fruit. Lizards, if they find any. Get moving!"

He nodded and set off, yelling his orders out in the streets whenever he passed a group of idle people. He was soon out of sight and out of earshot.

At that moment, the gate to Outer Vegas opened and a large group of the former slaves turned farm folk swarmed through, laden with baskets and bags, a few pulling and pushing a cart. It wasn't much what they had to spare what with the crops being only recently sown, but it was more than what the refugees had had before. It seemed as if these people could all too well remember their own helplessness and how they had received help here, the least expected place, and got down to business with an almost professional efficiency.

Tara could see a young woman with a baby in a sling on her hips heading for a woman huddled on the ground with her back against the wall of a house. It was her baby that had been wailing, and by now it sounded hoarse and tired but continued crying with a stubbornness that made Tara's heart ache. Its mother tried to calm it with a flaccid breast that could offer neither nourishment nor comfort, and her own eyes were hollow, empty pools of despair as well. The farm woman took the baby out of the sling, handed the child to the man beside her and, after sitting down as well, took the wailing baby from the mother's unresisting hands. She put it to her breast and the nerve-grating whining finally stopped, much to everyone's relief. The mother of the starving baby just looked at the woman sitting beside her and two thin trails of tears washed white stripes into the grime on her face.

Others of the farm folk walked through the mass of refugees, handing out pieces of maize bread and cups of brahmin milk, and Tara watched them with a huge feeling of relief. They would help as they had been helped, freely and without holding back.

Someone behind her cleared their throat. Tara turned around and found herself looking at Cobra, a large rifle resting on one shoulder. "Whaddya want?"  
"I need your help, plain and simple. You heard what is going on here?"  
"No, but I've got eyes. What do you expect us to do here? Spoon gruel into snot-nosed kids?"  
"No." Tara crossed her arms. "I expect a group of people here shortly, they're to go out and gather food..."  
Gus spat out. "You'll have us digging up grub for..."  
"Don't interrupt me", Tara snapped coldly. "I need an armed escort for these people, men who know their guns and can keep these people from becoming deathclaw or cazadore feed."¨

Cobra held up a hand and Gus swallowed whatever it was he had meant to reply. "I see", he said. He locked eyes with Tara who still had her arms crossed and now thrust out her chin. After a few moments of silent stand-off, Cobra grinned. "What's the pay this time?"  
"Can we discuss that after we've saved these people from starving?"  
"We?"  
"We. As in we, the community here, the people of New Vegas." Her voice was low and her words clipped. "I offered you amnesty and offered you a place here in that community. You wanna be part of it, or not?"

The grin died on Cobra's face and he tilted his head. Finally he looked past her and shrugged. "Guess we'd better dance to your tune, missy", he said slowly.  
Tara chuckled mirthlessly under her breath. "You won't have to dance to anyone's tune, Cobra. I won't hold you back if you wanna leave. I will neither force you nor order you to do anything. But I thought you had more strength of character than that."  
Cobra blinked a few times, then snorted with a crooked grin. "Got me by the balls, missy." He slung the gun from his shoulder and set it down before resting one arm on the muzzle, leaning on it as if it was a walking stick. "Very well... Courier. We got your folks' back. And we'll discuss pay once this business is concluded."  
"Great." Tara flashed him a smile under lowered lids and extended her hand. He lifted his eyebrows, then took it with a grin. "Welcome aboard."

"But Cobra..."  
Cobra looked back over his shoulder and cocked an eyebrow. "What? Wonder what happened to T_aking orders from fucking no one_?"  
"Yeah, so..." Rick scratched his chin.  
"Listen." Cobra turned to face him. "I like it here. The one place where I'll be safe from the NCR, and I intend to stay here. You with me or not?"  
The three men exchanged a few looks and shrugs before Harry said: "Fine. Gonna be hard finding a better place anyway. Don't fancy trekking god knows where for fuck knows how long."  
"There." Cobra flashed Tara a smile and winked. "And there's your gatherers, too. We'll be seeing you."

Tara watched them go with a lot of mixed feelings.


	25. Chapter 25

** I 15, February 5, 2282 **

The caravan had passed through Halloran Springs on the third day of a journey uneventful so far to the point of being boring. There was nothing but desert, and not even a single gecko showed its scaly face to provide the guards with some distraction as they pushed onward to reach Barstow before the evening of day six to replenish their water that expectedly was running low; it was impossible to carry enough water for the whole journey.

Cassidy pointed out that once they'd pass Owens Lake the going would become much easier as the road followed the Owen River after that, but until then they were forced carry enough water for men and brahmin alike. The water was, in fact, the sole reason they were travelling with a cart at all, as settlements with watering opportunities were situated too far from each other.

New Barstow was a small, ramshackle town built from the ruins of its predecessor; its roads dusty and lined with people far too deep into their drinks for a late afternoon. All over the place were recently boarded-up houses.

"Not only going to be good for New Vegas to get the Caravans going again", Cassidy said to Vincent in a low voice as they headed for the public well. "A lot of the towns along the trade route prospered and grew over the past few years; and they feel the absence of the caravans between Shady Sands and Vegas like the loss of a fucking limb."  
"I can see that", Vincent gave back, likewise speaking softly.  
"We're just staying the night, stock up on water. Fancy a drink, go down the road there and find the place called 'Nelly's'. At least last time we were here it had the cleanest glasses."  
Vincent barely nodded. He had no intention of going anywhere to drink, yet in the end, he followed Cassidy, Boone and the rest out of curiosity if nothing else. The bar turned out to be pre-war; an ancient place in Old Western Style complete with swinging doors, a huge mirror behind the bar, a stage, and in a corner, a decaying piano that was missing several keys, a few strings hanging loosely out of some gaps in the wood.

Later that evening, after having settled down around their campfire, Cassidy watched Vincent whittle a piece of wood into shape. "What's that supposed to be?", she asked, lighting a cigarette.  
Vincent didn't look up as he produced a piano string and tied it around the piece of wood. "An instrument."  
She snorted softly and continued watching as he repeated the process with another piece, now having a length of piano string with a handle on each end. "What kind of instrument is a fucking piece of string?"  
"A soundless one."  
Cassidy froze, cigarette halfway to her mouth. "I'm not sure I like where this conversation is going."  
"Then maybe you should not pursue it any further", Vincent gave back mildly.

At that, Boone leaned forward and snapped: "Don't you dare talk to my woman that way."  
Before Vincent could reply to that, Cassidy leaned forward with a laugh. "Stop being silly, Craig. Never needed someone to fight for my honour, or what's left of it, anyway, and I ain't gonna need one now." She ruffled his hair, or at least the stubbles of it, with an affectionate smile. "Besides, he's right."  
Boone looked at her from the corner of his eyes, then shrugged and gave her a small, crooked grin.

That night, within the small encampment area at the outskirts of Barstow, was the first that Cass and Boone spent inside the actual camp, together with their guards and brahmin; the wish for some sort of privacy up until then having made them place their blankets and bedrolls at some distance from the others. Close to the settlement however, this kind of privacy was unavailable anyway.

When Vincent lowered himself down onto the ground after brushing some pebbles away and settled his head down on his folded bag, Cass sat up again, watching him with a frown. Vincent didn't notice this; just closed his eyes and was a bit surprised when, moments later, a blanket hit the ground beside him. He sat up at that and found Cass looking at him.

"Didn't think you had no blanket", she said, sounding slightly apologetic.  
Vincent shrugged. "Acquiring a bedroll for the journey had too low a priority to waste time upon. Halloran Springs had nothing in terms of blankets or the likes for sale."  
"How could you sleep like that the whole time?"  
He smiled thinly. "I've campaigned in worse conditions."  
"Keep the blanket for tonight", Cass said after a moment's silence. "Craig and I can share one. There's a trading post here up the main road. They ought to have some."  
"You have my thanks."  
Cass settled back and Craig pulled his blanket over both of them. "Night", she said after resting her head on Boone's arm.  
"Good night."

Vincent had to admit it was an improvement being able to roll up in a blanket instead of just ignoring the cold desert night air; but still he couldn't find rest for quite a long while yet before he finally could quieten his thoughts enough to fall asleep, busy as they were with the task ahead. At least sleep came without dreams this time.

When he was about to leave and make his way to the trading post the next morning, Cass caught up with him.  
"You wanna get yourself a sturdy pair of goggles while you're at it", she said. "When we get closer to Owens Lake the sandstorms get really nasty, being as the lake is a giant salt pan. A face wrap or a cloth or a stormchaser hat would be a good idea, too."  
Vincent nodded. "Thank you again. I will see to it."  
Cass tipped the brim of her hat and went back to help loading the cart.

They left the town shortly after sunrise and followed the road west, taking a north-westerly turn to follow the old 58 when the I15 turned south. It was along that road, somewhat later that morning, that they passed some strange, rusty metal contraptions close to the road: long metal arches on wheels, higher than a man and seemingly at least half a mile long. From what Vincent could see from his point of view, each of them pivoted around the centre of a perfect sphere that was still visibly different in colour and texture from the barren, bleached desert earth around them. He mustered the huge, looming metal arches with a thoughtful face. "What are these?"  
Boone shouldered his rifle. "Some kind of pre-war tech."  
Vincent suppressed a remark along the lines of unnecessarily stating the obvious and looked at the strange installations, wondering what purpose they might have served before the war.

"I heard some of the locals in Barstow tell there's more of them south of the I15 east of town, but you don't see those from the road. They say these things were agricultural equipment, but why the fuck would anyone put fields in the middle of the fucking desert? And why would they be round? And anyways: How the fuck would anything grow without some sort of irrigation?"  
Vincent looked at the arch again and at the wheels it was resting upon. He could imagine the mechanism driving forward, pivoting round the pillar in the centre, and cast Cassidy a look. "What if these installations were the irrigation system? That would explain why there could have been fields at all and why they were round."  
Cass scratched the back of her neck. "That would make sense, actually. Still, why would anyone want to have fields in the fucking middle of a fucking desert? Seems like no worth the effort if you gotta build things like this to keep them going."  
Vincent shrugged and shifted his attention to the road again. "We are talking about a society that exterminated itself with atomic bombs. Trying to appraise what and why those people would or wouldn't do something is probably futile."

After silently contemplating the remnants of pre-war technology for a moment longer, Cass clicked her tongue to get the brahmin moving again and the caravan left the dead fields behind, heading further west. Vincent thought he could hear Boone whisper 'smart ass' under his breath and suppressed a tiny smile as he followed the brahmin cart and his own shadow westward over the ancient, cracked tarmac road.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x **_

Two days later they reached Three Flags, a small settlement that consisted of not much more than a trading post, a small inn and about half a dozen houses where the 58 crossed the 359. They stayed the night and left with sunrise, this time taking the road north, following the ancient band of tarmac still called Three Flags Highway although no one could remember the origins of that name.

Shortly after leaving the settlement behind they passed a solar power plant, not unlike Helios One but a lot larger, although this one lay in ruins and thus had been worthless to the NCR. Vincent noticed the guards as well as Cassidy and Boone become more alert after passing the derelict station and unholstered his own gun.

"We're getting closer to the hills", Cassidy offered as unrequested explanation. "Even when the NCR was still patrolling the highways there were a lot of critters they couldn't get rid of. Mostly geckos and roaches, but deathclaws show their fucking visages too, so it pays to be on guard."  
Vincent nodded and kept his senses trained on his surroundings, but they remained undisturbed until they reached the hills shortly before nightfall the next day.

Coyotes prowled the area as well as nightstalkers, and especially the latter proved to be a nuisance as they were active at dusk and night. They reached Johannesburg long after nightfall and with a scared and exhausted brahmin that was balky and refused to cooperate when they tried to hobble it.

The brahmin came up lame the next day, forcing them to stay another day in Johannesburg, a town that had nothing to offer beside a trading post that simultaneously served as bar with naught more than a table and a few chairs in a corner.

They left again with sunrise, heading north this time, but the quiet, boring days on the I 15 were obviously over. As expected, Geckos and Coyotes were abundant and hungry enough to attack even a sizable group of travellers, so everyone had to stay on guard at all times.  
It was a few hours after noon on the second day after leaving Johannesburg that the journey almost came to a sudden end when they ran into a deathclaw, a mother deathclaw with her brood at that. The brahmin instantly panicked but  
couldn't bolt because of the cart, so it just stood there mooing frantically and shaking its heads hard enough to make its foamy spittle fly.

The four younglings were quickly disposed of but their mother wasn't; she roared and charged, always only narrowly missing her targets until with the last sweep of her giant hands, she caught Vincent and all but impaled him on one of her claws that went neatly through the gap under his shoulder guard. It all happened so fast that no one could react properly.

Due to the force of the hit, Vincent was thrown almost five yards before hitting the ground like a sack with a grunt of pain. Despite the double impact shock, he was able to pull a small knife out of his boot and throw it, hitting the deathclaw at the base of the throat as it charged in to finish him off.  
Even though Boone and Cass and the three other guards fired relentlessly at the beast, Vincent would have been history but for the knife. The deathclaw stumbled to a halt, clawed grunting at the little dagger sitting in its neck and shook her head with a mighty snort before slowly collapsing, no more than an arm's length away from Vincent who stared at the creature with a white face, one hand pressed onto his bleeding shoulder.

Cursing and swearing Cassidy came hurrying over, yanked her pack from her shoulders and dug into it to produce two stimpacks. She jabbed them into the base of Vincent's neck, the only area of exposed skin available close enough to the wound, and then fumbled around in the bag for a bottle of water. One of the guards knelt down beside them to help Vincent sit up again so he could drink while the other two guards and Boone checked their surroundings for more of the beasts.

"Seems all clear", Boone said as he came back and knelt down beside his wife next to Vincent who had emptied the bottle of water, with narrow lips ignoring the pain caused by the stimpacks doing their work as he forced himself to his feet.  
Cassidy nodded and watched with a worried frown as Vincent stood up again. "Might as well make camp now", she said to Boone. "The brahmin is out of its mind and Vince is wounded."  
"It would be better to put a bit of a distance between our camp and the corpses", Vincent replied levelly after straightening up. "If the brahmin can be persuaded to move."  
"What about you?" Cass looked him up and down.  
Vincent barely shrugged, ignoring the sting of pain in his shoulder. "I will do." He then bent down to pull the dagger out of the fallen deathclaw's neck, inspected the blade and slipped it back into its scabbard in his boot.

Boone glared at him under narrowed brows. "Was dead pretty quick considering the size of that blade."  
Vincent shrugged. "If you suspect poison, then you are correct."  
The sniper snorted under his breath but even though he gave Vincent another deadly glare, he didn't comment on it any further. It was obvious that apart from the poison, Vincent's aim had been what had saved him. Anywhere else and the small dagger would not have penetrated the tough, scaly skin, but Vincent didn't expect any praise from Boone, and Boone didn't offer any.

Cass rolled her eyes and shrugged as well. "Men", she muttered, but as she couldn't disagree with Vincent about the corpses, they got the brahmin moving again and made a few miles more before setting up camp. She wasn't quite sure about it, but she had the impression that after the deathclaw incident, her husband seemed to treat Vincent with a very slight, grudging respect. She knew better, however, than to ask him about it. So she just did what she always did after they had survived a fight; she found herself a private spot, somewhere away from the camp but still within calling distance, and waited. Sure enough, he soon showed up and with his usual single-mindedness, took her in his arms and kissed her fiercely as they settled down on their blankets.

Discomforted by the pain in his shoulder that the stimpacks were only just able to take the edge off, Vincent remained awake for a long while after the camp had fallen quiet around him. He gave up sleeping as a bad job, relieved the guard on duty and found himself a convenient rock to sit upon as he alternately gazed into the fire or at the stars.

When he first heard the sounds, he almost jumped up and shouted alarm, but luckily he recognised them for what they really were just as he was about to do so. He tilted his head, straining his ears for a second to make sure he was not mistaken, but when he realised that he wasn't, sat down again and did his best to ignore the unambiguous rhythmic grunting and moaning coming from the darkness beyond the rocks surrounding the camp.

He might think Boone inferior, a less than bright man with crude manners and a crude way of speaking, but the sounds he was listening to and what they indicated painted a stark picture of what the sniper had and he himself could never hope to have again, not anymore. He had believed himself capable of dealing with it; had, in fact, believed he had come to accept it and got over it, but as he sat there in the silent desert night and couldn't help but listen to Boone and Cassidy rut in the darkness, he felt frustration and fury well up in him, so violently that they threatened to choke him. He fought these feelings down, trying to focus on the pain in his shoulder instead, but it did little to ease his mind.

He watched the fire die, focussed on letting his feelings wither along with the flames, die along with the dying embers after the fire had burnt down, but he didn't sleep any more at all that night.


	26. Chapter 26

** The Strip, February 13, 2282**

Since everything had already been in place, farm folk, their crops and animals and the lot, it had taken only a couple of days to get the refugees from Bitter Springs settled properly. Tara couldn't help but be grateful they hadn't shown up directly after the battle of the Dam when everything had been in limbo with the slaves and the wounded; as it was, the system was already running and all they had to do was find places for the poor folk in it.

Tara had remembered to give the hunting parties orders to catch any bighorner calves alive for breeding so they could stock up on their herds, and with more people to help work the farms they managed to plough and sow more fields rather quickly. A couple of men had even set up a small camp on the shores of Lake Mead and now worked as fishermen to supplement the city's food stocks.

Thinking about all this, Tara felt a certain pride at how well the city functioned by now. It had helped, of course, that roughly half the population of the city was made up of former slaves; while they began to hesitatingly embrace their freedom they still had lived their lives in servitude and were used to work hard for their living. As much as she hated to admit it, most of the Freeside and Westside inhabitants were more or less lethargic, resigned into a life of poverty and drug abuse and prostitution, and it was hard to raise these people into doing something to better their own lot. It was happening, but slowly, whereas the slaves simply continued to work as they had always done before, but with even more motivation as now, they were working for themselves, or rather the community they were part of, and not for any master.

Things were improving, though. Slowly, almost hesitatingly, the people of Vegas were beginning to understand that they all were building this city together and that it demanded all their efforts for their big dream to come to fruition, and that there was no longer any reason to numb themselves to the harshness of their meaningless lives. Some remained lethargic, some always would, and freeloaders were a common aspect of every society. Tara had no illusions about that, but hopes to keep those down to a minimum. The prospect to be able to make a difference and better their lot seemed to tear most people out of their stupor, however, and the Followers had a lot to do with helping people shed their addictions, much more than ever before.

"It's hard work, sure", Julie said to Tara when they sat over a cup of coffee in a small, newly erected building inside the Fort that served as a cafeteria. "But it's work I don't mind. If these people suddenly can find a meaning in their lives it'll be worth it."

Tara gently blew into her cup of steaming liquid, savouring the smell. Coffee was slowly becoming scarce in Vegas and she dreaded the day they would run out. They couldn't grow coffee here in the desert even if they had had the seed crops, which made coffee beans one of the luxuries only trade caravans could offer. She took a sip and looked at Julie who was watching her making love to the coffee with unmasked amusement.

"Are you enjoying that?"  
Tara grinned. "I was actually thinking of how long your supplies will last before we run out of coffee. Not that I have a thousand other, more important things to worry about."  
Julie shrugged with a knowing smile. "I have no idea, honestly, but it can't be more than a month or so. I admit that thought gives me the creeps, too."  
"Maybe we can work on a substitute", Tara said, clutching her cup a little tighter.  
Julie chuckled and both women enjoyed their coffee in silence, knowing that this particular pleasure would soon be unavailable for god knows how long.  
"We have another little supply problem, but that one shouldn't be as much of a challenge, I gather", Julie said after a moment.  
Tara raised her eyebrows.

"Alcohol", the doctor went on. "And I'm not talking about getting people drunk though I understand that a complete lack of alcohol can lead to more frustration all around. But we, the Followers, need alcohol too, the purified variety, and it's becoming scarce as well."  
Tara watched the steam emanating from her cup. "I guess we could build a facility, but wouldn't we need a lot more grain for that?"  
"Therein lies the problem. I'm not sure the supplies will last until the new crops are ripe for harvest."  
After giving this some thought, Tara took another sip of coffee and looked at Julie again. "Then we'll have to make sure you get what you need. Medical purpose has priority over drinking. Huh... never thought about the need for a brewery."

The two of them exchanged a grin.

"The only problem, apart from building a facility, is finding someone who knows how to make the stuff", Julie said after a moment. "There's bound to be a lot of people who have been, or are, illicit distillers, but this is on another scale. And this is the one thing the people who have been legion slaves don't know how to do. They didn't have alcohol there."  
"I know." Tara emptied her cup. "We will have to put the word out and see what happens, although I don't allow myself any hope that there happens to be someone residing here in Vegas who knows about brewing proper beer."  
Julie chuckled. "You managed to make Benny pay taxes and to recruit powder gangers for nation building. If you can't' find a brewer, no one can."  
At this, Tara had to laugh. "Your word in god's ear, Julie."

After another pause, Tara looked around in the small, clean brick building and rested her eyes on Julie again. "I haven't seen Arcade in a while", she said.  
Julie's face instantly became devoid of all good humour.  
"Is something wrong with him?" Tara was now worried as well.  
"He's... he completely buries himself in his research these days", Julie replied after a shrug. "He sits in the lab all day and if I wouldn't bring him food he'd forget to eat more than half of the time. And even though I theoretically know what I'm supposed to do when a fellow doctor is shell-shocked by the loss of patients, I simply can't reach him."  
Tara remembered the dead baby and what Julie had told her about the woman having died in childbirth. "Should I try and talk to him?"  
Julie shook her head. "No, I don't think it's a good idea right now. He will come out of it, I'm sure, and forcing the issue will do no good. He'll come out and talk to me when he's ready for it."  
"Is there nothing I can do?"  
"No", Julie replied with a sad smile. "You can't resurrect pre-war antibiotics and you can't resurrect the people that have died because of their unavailability."

Staring at her empty cup, Tara was again reminded of the limits of her abilities despite anything else she might have achieved. So she just shrugged and nodded, wondering why it was so hard for her to admit defeat. Maybe because she wasn't really used to it. Before she left, however, she had to satisfy her curiosity.

"What happened to your hair?"  
Julie shrugged with a somewhat unhappy smile as she ran a hand over her head that sported nothing but four millimetre stubble. "The elastic I tied the hair back with snapped this morning when I was examining a patient. It's nothing spectacular, but I thought about what it would have meant if that had happened during an emergency. It might have cost someone's life if I had to stop during treatment to tie my hair back, so I just cut it off. The whole hairstyle was too time consuming and all anyway."

Tara nodded and since she didn't know what to reply, kept her silence.

When Tara had left the Fort Julie returned to what was her and Arcade's office, nothing more than a small, square building containing two desks with computers, two chairs and a filing cabinet and a few medical charts on the walls. It wasn't before she had sat down on the chair that she noticed the corner of an envelope sticking out from under the keyboard, and when she pulled it out, it had nothing on it apart from her name, written in an unfamiliar hand.

With slightly trembling fingers, Julie opened the envelope to find a short note inside.

_Julie,_

_I don't know if there's a man in your life yet, and if there is, then take this letter and burn it, forget all about it and don't think about who might have written it. But if there isn't, then I'd like to take my chance in becoming that man. I'd like to take you out for dinner tonight, if you can and want. I'll pick you up at the gates of the Fort at eight o'clock._

_Aaron. _

She kept on staring at the letter for another long while, but neither could she remember anyone called Aaron nor did any other clue appear as to who had sent her this note. With the letter still in her hand she left her office, looking around as if the one who had written this still might loiter outside somewhere when she ran into Arcade who was on his way in.

"Sorry", he mumbled and took Julie's arm to steady her. "What... you look as if you've seen a ghost."  
Julie looked up at him. "And you look as if you are a ghost, Arcade. You need to take a break sometime and treat yourself to some air and sunshine."  
Arcade shrugged and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I know. I was thinking if you'd fancy having a coffee with me." A cautious smile appeared on his face.  
Julie couldn't help but grin. "Sure. Anytime. And..."  
"Hm?"  
"Coffee first."

Arcade chuckled and together they went to their cafeteria and the coffee maker.

"So", Arcade said as they sat down. "What makes you blush that way?"  
"I am blushing?", Julie asked, mortified, and noticed the same moment that her cheeks burned even more. "Well... I guess I am. Here." With that, she put the letter down and shoved it into Arcade's direction. He took it while blowing onto his coffee, and while reading it, his eyebrows slowly rose almost to his hairline. When he looked at Julie again, he had a grin on his face, for the first time in weeks.  
"A blind date?"  
Julie shrugged and nervously threaded her fingers. "Do you know anyone called Aaron?"  
"No." Arcade took a sip of coffee and hissed after swallowing hastily as he had been too impatient, as usual, and the coffee was still steaming hot. "But I admit I am dying of curiosity."  
Only too happy to be able to provide him with some kind of distraction, Julie grinned and buried her nose in her own cup. "Me, too."  
Arcade tilted his head for a moment. "Is there a man you would want to have sent you that note?"  
Julie shrugged and looked at him over the rim of her cup. "Ah... maybe. I didn't think of it like this before. Or him."  
"May I know?"  
Julie debated with herself for a while before taking a deep breath. "I'd rather keep it to myself."  
Arcade's smile softened. "Of course."

They sipped their coffee in silence for a while.

"You know...", Julie said, trying to suppress a nervous giggle, "... this will be the perfect occasion to try and put on my dress."  
Arcade chuckled under his breath. "You have a dress?"  
Julie chuckled as well. "I bought it at Mick and Ralph's almost two years ago. It was on display and it had my size and... oh well, I'm only a woman, and I couldn't resist, even though I knew I'd never have any opportunity to wear it."  
"You have now."  
"I know", Julie replied and blushed again. "Arcade, I... I just have to ask..."  
"Of course", Arcade fell in before she had finished voicing her question.  
Julie set her cup down. "You don't even know what..."  
Arcade held up a hand. "Let me venture a guess."  
"Go ahead."  
"You meant to ask if I could take your night shift."  
"I... yes."  
"See. Don't need to be a clairvoyant. Of course, Julie."  
"I just... you know, I didn't want to ask because..."  
Arcade's eyes clouded over for a moment while he furrowed his forehead. "I know. I... I just... I have to face it, Julie. I can't go on like this. Sooner or later I'll go mad, staying inside that lab all the time."

Julie reached out and took his hand. "I'm glad you came to that conclusion on your own."  
Arcade looked up again with a crooked, sad smile. "I wasn't sure you hadn't already written me off."  
"Never." She squeezed his hand and he returned the gesture. "I was just worried, but I didn't want to press the matter."  
Arcade gave her a tiny, but honest smile this time. "I guess you know me better than I care to admit."

They exchanged a long, silent glance and Julie patted his hand before they stood up in unspoken agreement and embraced.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x **_

When Julie entered the courtyard shortly before eight o'clock she was so nervous that she almost bolted, but when Arcade emitted an admiring whistle upon seeing her she felt her mood ease a bit.

"You look stunning, Julie."  
She chuckled nervously. "As if you are any judge of a woman's appearance."  
"Please." Arcade slipped his arms through hers. "Do you really think that just because I don't fancy women in bed it also means I can't appreciate their beauty?"  
She looked up at him at that, and saw him smile his old, good-natured smile again. "I didn't think so, no."  
Arcade chuckled. "Trust me. Queer men are very popular fashion advisors."  
Julie almost burst out laughing, more from nervousness than anything else. "Are they?"  
"By my experience, yes. I guess it's because we fancy men as well but are no competition like another woman."  
Julie chuckled again. "So after your experience, what is your appraisal of my appearance?"  
Arcade looked her up and down, feigning severity. "That dress has a nice fit and shows neither too much nor too little cleavage or leg. I fear me though if you want an honest appraisal of the contents of that dress you'd have to ask someone else."

This time Julie did break out laughing, and Arcade allowed himself a chuckle.

"Sorry", he said while Julie tried to regain her composure.  
"It's all right. I guess I'm just more than a little nervous."  
"With good reason, I'm sure."

Julie was strangely grateful that Arcade didn't take his arm out of hers and led her to the gates of the Fort. She was pretty sure that whoever it was who had written that note and was now waiting for her outside wouldn't eat her alive, but Arcade's presence beside her gave her some sort of reassurance she couldn't explain.  
"Ready?", he asked under his breath.  
"I don't think I'll ever be ready as such", Julie gave back in a whisper.

Arcade chuckled softly and opened the gate.

Outside stood a man, half hidden in the shadows, wearing a white suit. He took a step forward and Arcade could feel Julie catch her breath in her throat.

"Evening, Julie", the King said, his face carefully arranged into a neutral expression as he noticed Arcade. "May I say you look absolutely stunning?"  
"She does, doesn't she?" Arcade let go of Julie's arm with a grin and noticed the King's slightly strained, forced smile. "If I wasn't queer I'd be jealous as hell."  
The King suppressed a nervous cough and gave Arcade a tiny, lopsided and slightly apologetic grin before bowing to Julie and offering her his arm. "I can't say how honoured and happy I am that you accepted my invitation."  
Julie, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, accepted his arm and swallowed. "I... I admit I hadn't expected that."  
He winked. "I'm glad you accepted, though."

"I wish you a wonderful evening", Arcade said pointedly before leaving them and closing the gate behind him. He went for his tent whistling under his breath.


	27. Chapter 27

** Freeside, February 17, 2282 **

Tara had checked with Julie how things were going with the refugees every day, but things had quickly fallen into place. Hunting parties had arrived, fields had been ploughed and were still being tilled and sown, and with heaps of building material available, the people had begun to erect new houses.

"I think it's about time we tore down some of these makeshift scrap walls", Tara said to Julie as they watched a cart roll in from Outer Vegas, on its way to the large place cleared opposite the Fort that had become a sort of public square and market place, also because the water valve that now served as a public well sat in its centre.

Julie nodded but didn't reply, and after a moment, Tara looked at her to find her friend staring at nothing with a strange, empty look and en even stranger smile on her face. "Julie?"  
"What?" Julie blushed and blinked a few times before her eyes rested on Tara's face again. "Sorry, I think I was..."  
"What is wrong with you?"  
"Wrong?" Julie had to laugh as well. "Nothing. Nothing is wrong it's just..."  
Tara had to laugh. "You look like you're in love."  
Julie's grin softened into a smile. "You know... in fact, I am."  
Tara felt a grin spread on her face. "Really? And... who? And is he..."  
Julie smiled and chewed her lower lip for a moment.

_It was close to midnight when they left the Ultra-Luxe again after a very pleasant, quiet evening that had started with an excellent dinner, continued with drinks at the bar while listening to low music. They had talked and talked and talked, and at one point, their hands had touched and their fingers entwined. After that, they hadn't let go of each other's hands, but still they had talked. By now Julie couldn't even recall what about, everything and anything, from her medical training in the Boneyard to his childhood in a nameless little town. _

_He had walked her home, gallantly offering her his jacket against the coolness of the night, and now they were standing in front of the gates of the Fort, not wanting to let go of each other's hands._

_"You know, Julie...", the King said softly, "...there's something I've been meaning to ask you."  
Julie looked up, her throat suddenly too dry to swallow. "Yes?"_  
"_You know... in that letter I sent you... remember?"  
"Yes...?"  
"I asked if you had a man in your life, and said I would like to become that man..." He didn't get any further because Julie took his face in her hands and pulled his head down. He smiled, a bright, happy smile, and with a chuckle, closed his arms around her before their lips met. _

_They parted only reluctantly, and only after a long, long time of standing there in the shadows cast by the walls of the Fort. Julie hesitatingly handed him his jacket back, and he accepted it with a smile, treating it as if it was a holy relic just because it had been on her shoulders. They shared another kiss before Julie went back in, after he had promised he would pick her up again the next evening._

"He invited me out to dinner a few nights ago and... and last night, too." She stared ahead again, and again with that strange, sweet smile Tara was completely unaccustomed to seeing on Julie's face. Then she unwound her fingers and blushed again. "He gave me a present last night."

Tara tilted her head, hardly recognising her friend.

When Julie looked up again she lifted her hand and showed it to Tara. On the ring finger of her left hand was a golden ring adorned with three small gemstones. The two women exchanged a look that turned into a grin and after a moment, Tara gave in to the impulse of embracing her friend. When Julie stepped back she looked so genuinely happy that Tara couldn't suppress a tiny jab of jealousy, even though she didn't begrudge Julie her happiness at all. Before she could say anything, however, they heard Arcade call for Julie.

He came over, still looking a little worse for wear after his night shift, but he, too, noticed Julie's happy grin. He gave her a questioning look with a smile of his own.

Julie in turn wordlessly extended her hand and Arcade's eyes first narrowed, then went wide in delight when he realised what it was she was showing him. He broke out into a laugh and wordlessly embraced Julie as well, running a hand firmly down her back as he did so. Julie held on to him for a moment before they broke the embrace and when Julie ran a hand through her hair, visibly trying to calm herself, Arcade shook his head with a chuckle.

"You two are sure not wasting any time", he said.

Julie just shrugged, not knowing what to say. All three of them stood there in a friendly silence for a while when someone hailed them, or rather, Tara.

The three of them turned around to see a rather large group of people approach them; all of them farm folk, the former slaves and former refugees, and in the lead two women Tara didn't recognise, bearing a large bundle. They came to halt before her and one of the women dropped something akin to a courtesy. Tara felt her stomach clench, she didn't want any deference and wanted no one to pay homage to her. She held her tongue, however, when she looked at the people, saw their facial expressions, the way they looked at her. She suddenly had the notion that something very important was about to happen and straightened up, looking solemnly at the women approaching her.

Arcade and Julie had noticed the mood, too, and had taken a few respectful steps back.

The woman who had curtsied to her now spoke, her voice soft and low. "Courier Tara of Goodsprings", she said slowly. "You saved us from the Legion, you freed us from slavery, you gave us back our life, our freedom and our honour. We have nothing to ever repay you, but we want to give you a gift to express our gratitude. May these serve you well." With that, the two women held out the bundle in their hands and Tara accepted it with a grave face, then she unwrapped it.  
It contained two items of gecko leather; one piece the washed-out blue of common gecko, the other a rich, deep gold with a black seam. Tara took a deep breath, trying to ignore the goose-flesh spreading on her whole body, and looked at the women again. "Thank you", she said sombrely. "I gladly accept your gift."

The two women curtsied again with lowered heads and stepped back into the ranks of their own people, all of which were looking expectantly at Tara. Only now did she realise that what she had in her hands had to be clothing, and also realised that the people were expecting, or hoping, at least, for her to put them on.

With the bundle of leather in her arms she turned around to face Julie and Arcade. "I need a place to change."  
Arcade was the first to recover. "Follow me."

He led her into the tower closest to the gate, assuring her he would be waiting outside, making sure no one would enter. Tara nodded and with a racing heart and a clenching stomach, she unfolded the pieces of gecko leather, catching her breath in her throat as she did so. It was obvious that they must have spent hours and hours on these items.

The blue piece was a knee-long vest. It was amazing work, excellent craftsmanship in tanning and sewing, beautiful in its simplicity. Sewn together from nothing but gecko leather, the pieces fit together in a way that the scales itself with their natural shading formed into a pattern of lines and patches. The golden one was a long skirt, the thick golden gecko leather falling in rich folds down to her ankles, almost but not quite touching the ground. The black seam turned out to be a rim of oiled crow's feathers, sewn horizontally along the hem of the skirt, overlapping each other to create a narrow band that reflected the light like a black prism.

Tara undressed herself with shaking hands, the cool leather of the vest feeling strange even through her shirt. When she slipped on the skirt she realised that whoever had made these clothes had a very good visual judgement as they fit her perfectly. She straightened up again, looking down at herself in her new garments, the shining gecko leather vest, the heavy golden skirt with its glittering black hem, and had to suppress a sudden surge of panic.

_They're making me their queen... Oh by all that is holy, these people are making me their queen!_

It took her a few minutes before she could bring herself to open the door, to step out into the sunlight and face the people again. When she did step out, she could hear Arcade beside her suppress a gasp. She cast him a nervous glance and noticed he straightened up and gave her an admiring look. "Stunning."  
"Arcade..." Tara resisted the urge to bite her nails. "What am I supposed to do now?"  
"Act your part", Arcade replied. "Just remember that most, if not all of these people are tribal. They most likely need these kinds of rituals, so just bear in mind that you're doing this for them, not for yourself."

Tara nodded, straightened her back, smoothed down her vest and walked across the courtyard of the Fort with slow, measured steps. It was ridiculous, she thought, every person she passed snapped to attention and took a step back all on their own. When she stepped through the gates where the farm folk were still waiting for her, all of them lowered their heads.

"I thank you for this gift", Tara said, and to her relief her voice held strong and steady. "These garments are beautiful and an honour to whomever made them. I shall wear them with pride."

Her honest praise made the people look up again, proud smiles on their faces. Then, suddenly, someone began to stomp their feet. Others fell in, and within moments, the whole crowd, more than three dozen people, were stomping their feet, clapping their hands and chanting Tara's name. More people came hurrying over at the noise and joined the chanting, making it echo eerily between the houses until Tara got her wits back together and threw up her arms. The noise died down instantly.

"I will gladly accept your gratitude, but there is no need to worship me", she said in a way as friendly yet firmly as she could muster. "Go about your business now. You have my thanks."

Someone stepped up to her as the crowd had dispersed. "That was rather archaic", Arcade said softly.  
Tara suppressed a shudder. "I guess it was tribal."

"Probably. Are you all right?"  
"I don't know. I'm kind of scared, if I'm being honest."  
"I would be worried if you weren't."

Tara couldn't bring herself to tell him that what had scared her most about the whole affair was how amazingly good it had felt.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x **_

** Three Flags Highway, February 17, 2282**

"It's not far to the river now."

The three men didn't comment on Cassidy's attempt at cheering them up. They were silently following the cart and its sad load of a wrapped corpse, and all of them, Cassidy included, were only intent on getting as quickly away from the Owens Lake salt pan as possible.

Vincent had never doubted the need for goggles and a face wrap when Cassidy had told him to get one, but the cruel ferocity of the salt-sandstorms travellers risked being hit by when passing that dead lake had been beyond his imagination. He felt salt and sand grind between his toes, between his buttocks and between his teeth, his eye was burning despite the protective eyewear and if that wouldn't have been enough, the salt lurks inhabiting that death trap of a lake had turned out to be the most nightmarish creatures he had ever met.

They didn't even remotely look like the lake lurks he was accustomed to, more like a crossbreed between a giant scorpion and a lizard that someone had stepped on. Crawling low on the ground, their carapaces crusted with sand and salt crystals, they were practically invisible until they attacked; and when they did so, they spat vicious squirts of lye at their prey's faces that burned worse than any acid.

One of their guards had been surprised by the creatures and all help had come too late. If they buried him here, however, the lurks would just dig him out again, according to Cassidy, and eat him anyway. So they decided to haul the body along until reaching Lone Pine and Owen River where they would be able to bury him properly.

Stumbling along over treacherous ground of shifting sand and salt studded with pebbles and rocks, skin and nerves rubbed raw, eye and lips burning and being tormented by thirst, Vincent had to admit he had never been so uncomfortable and never wished for a bath as much, not in his whole life.


	28. Chapter 28

** The Strip, February 22, 2282**

Despite herself, Tara discovered that what she had dismissed as vain and nonsense – dressing as the Queen of Vegas – had advantages she had never even dared to dream of. People had been bumping into her frequently, and even if that usually earned them a lecture from one of her guards, it still happened quite often on the busier parts of the streets. Drunks had been yelling at her, and the other day they had caught someone trying to pickpocket her.

After she had put these garments on, however, people made way wherever she went and greeted her respectfully, even the higher members of the Families. Maybe that was because they had their tribal roots as well, even if they did not particularly care to remember them. Some things were obviously too deeply ingrained to shed within a few years. Tara was reminded of this at the next council meeting during which she had wished to discuss the topic of installing a proper jail and necessities of amending the police law.

Her suggestion of turning the old station into a jail went undisputed, the same held true for the amendments to the laws she was beginning to put down. To this end she had also finally managed to employ a scribe, or secretary; Andrew, a young man who had, according to his story, been an initiate of the Brotherhood of Steel, had run away and been caught by the Legion slave hunters and now didn't care to go back to his family as an eunuch and would rather they believed him dead. He had bitterly told her that now he had still ended up a scribe after all and had, to use his own words 'paid for his escapades with his balls'. Tara could understand that.

But since he had also said that being a scribe was better than being a dirty farmer, he now attended their meetings and dutifully and efficiently kept notes of everything, copying every finished text of law down into a large ledger he had begun to make after educating some of the farm folk of Outer Vegas who worked as tanners in how to make parchment from bighorner calf skin.

To Tara's mild surprise, the meeting concluded with extremely little fuss; Andrew also declared himself willing to see the refurbishing of the old station building carried out accordingly, that is, to find some masons and builders to brick up the windows and install bars to make cells. Tara sent him off with the authority to promise any workers that they would be paid accordingly and let him go, for the first time relying on someone else to pose as messenger and act in her name.

After seeing the council members out with mixed feelings, Tara noticed Benny still loitering close to where the bar had been. "Hey." Benny flashed her a grin that could have come across quite sweet if Tara hadn't been so wary of him. "I just wanted a word with you, in private, dig?"  
She crossed her arms. "I'm not sure I'd have anything to say to you that would require privacy."  
"Oh come on, baby doll, let's keep this in the groove", he said, giving her a hurt look out of big puppy eyes. "I know we got off on a bit of a bad start together..."  
"You tried to kill me."  
"Yeah, I know how that looks, baby..."  
"You shot me in the face while I knelt beside the grave your thugs had dug for me. It's sheer chance that the bullet wasn't fatal and that Victor was there and got me to the Doc in time."  
"Yeah, I know, I know. Look, I just..."  
"What _do_ you want?"

Benny fell silent and mustered her, his mouth set in a thin line, his eyes resting on the Courier resembling the ones of a beaten dog. "It wasn't personal, dig? I didn't know you then."  
"No, I was just an inconvenience."  
"Yeah, well... that was an off-time jive, wasn't it." Benny crossed his arms with a sigh. "But the courier number six was just... a number, dig? And you are..."  
"Yes?"  
"Uh. I gotta slide my jib now. You're a real broad, Tara. In that drape you just..."  
"For fuck's sake, Benny!" Tara dropped her arms. "Can't you just once, just this once, talk straight like a man and drop that ridiculous slang?"  
"Like a man, ey?" Benny adjusted his tie. "Solid. What I wanted to say was that you... ah... you're a beautiful, classy, stylish woman and... you're platinum, baby, so..." He noticed Tara narrow her eyes and hurriedly added: "I mean, you've got a big, generous heart and I... Look, I'm just a man, dig? I just wanna have a place in that heart, too."

Tara just gaped while Benny took one of her unresisting hands in his.

"So help me, I just..." His eyes turned warm and soft for the first time ever that he had looked at her and Tara stared at him completely bedevilled when he brought her hand to his face and placed a kiss on her fingers.

It was the touch of his lips on her skin that tore Tara out of her dazzled state of mind. She jerked her hand away and took a step back. "Don't you dare to believe that I will fall for that load of brahmin crap you just dished out", she said. "I don't doubt for a second that you're after my power and position and not me as a woman. And now get out before you make me try and find out if I really am the Queen of Vegas and can ensure you'll never lay your hands on me again."  
His eyes widening, Benny stared at her for a second before suddenly dropping to his knees and grabbing the hem of her skirt. "Please." His voice was full of honest despair. "I just want you to forgive me!"  
Tara stared down at him, not really believing her eyes or her ears. But there he was, Benny, kneeling before her like a beggar on the dusty carpet, looking at her with beseeching eyes as if she was the centre of his world. And he had been right about her big and generous heart. It probably would be her downfall. With a sigh, she placed a hand on his head. "You know what saves you right now? That I can't actually remember what you did to me. I only know it from second hand information. Get up, please."

He did, and when he looked at her again, he had a sweet, mischievous smile on his face. "I so hoped you'd find it in your heart, baby. That's a blip. I mean..." He shook his head and quickly placed his hands on Tara's cheeks before pressing a soft and tender kiss onto her lips. "Can I pick you up tomorrow night at eight for a date?"  
Completely dumbstruck, Tara shook her head. "No."  
"Great. See you tomorrow then, baby doll." Benny kissed her again and was out of the door within seconds, before the guards hurrying across the room had a chance to reach him.

Tara in turn headed for the elevator in what was almost a run and could first calm her breathing and her racing heart when she had closed the door of her bedroom behind her. Then she carefully undressed, draped the garments across a chair to prevent crumpling and crawled under her blanket, burying her face into the pillow.

She was ashamed. Ashamed of herself, ashamed of the fact that she hadn't resisted his kiss despite the fact that she knew exactly what kind of man he was. True, she felt terribly lonely at times, but not that lonely. Or so she had thought. The thing was, Benny was a charming and handsome man. He was also a man with ambitions, a person accustomed to being a leader himself and used to get what he wanted. He was a man to watch and be wary of.

As she straightened out, she realised he had managed to get the better of her with the element of surprise, and assured herself it wouldn't happen again.

"A proper bodyguard would've made sure he never got the first chance, either", she muttered to herself. An unhappy laugh escaped her. "When the cat's away, the rats will play."

Sleep had a long time coming that night.


	29. Chapter 29

** Shady Sands, February 22, 2282**

A little more than three weeks after the caravan had left New Vegas it finally arrived in Shady Sands.

After having dropped off the two remaining guards in a small farming village close to Bishop they had discussed Vincent's mission again and decided it might be best if he tagged along after all, as there was an actual chance that news about the failed plot against the Courier's life had not managed to travel back home yet.  
Vincent had come to that conclusion shortly after Owens Lake; a lone man travelling that road would have a hard time surviving, especially if he would have had to make a hasty departure, if he had left at all. It might as well be that he knew perfectly well what his chances were and was just lying very low somewhere.

So on the off-chance of catching a contact, a middle man or a messenger that could give him a lead, he stayed with Cassidy and Boone as they made their way back to their trading compound on the outskirts of Shady Sands. Another problem that Vincent faced and that he could do nothing about was remaining inconspicuous; while that never had posed a problem to him it was one now, what with his scars and the missing eye it would be hard _not_ to remember his face. Since covering his face would attract more attention than it would avert, the only way he could think of to conceal himself inconspicuously was to stop shaving, but he loathed the sweaty, itching mat of hair.

Things being as they were, following leads and tracking down people would be a challenge and more dangerous than ever with his easily recognisable features. He could grow a beard to conceal the scar on his cheek and the broken jaw, but he could do nothing about the missing eye but wear a pair of shades, and he could do nothing at all about the broken nose. There was nothing but wait and see and deal with the complications as they arose.

Having exchanged his armour for a simple, shabby outfit and wearing shades and a stormchaser hat, he now sat on the fence of the brahmin enclosure and waited to see if at one point a messenger would approach Cassidy about the package she had been supposed to carry.

As it turned out, luck was with him that day. It was two hours before sunset that someone entered the caravan trading compound, looked around and immediately approached Cass in a hurried stride when he spotted her.

Vincent kept on watching the ongoings in the compound, people hurrying back and forth, others unloading the salt they had acquired at the salt farms at Owens Lake. Behind him someone was mucking the brahmin enclosure and close to the gate a woman who seemed to be a prostitute was engaged in a heated discussion with a man who looked like a caravan guard.

As she talked to the man who had just entered the compound, Cass suddenly took her hat off to fan herself as she shrugged, and upon that agreed sign, Vincent picked up his bag, jumped off the fence and left the trading compound to wait for the man to re-emerge again.

He lit a cigarette; another custom of the profligates he had been drilled into being able to feign, just like drinking, during his training as a frumentarius. It was beyond him how anyone could willingly pick up on this foul habit, but it made for excellent cover when one had to stand around somewhere waiting. Sure enough, the courier left the compound again and with a skill honed by years of practise Vincent shadowed him, following him until his target entered a large house that seemed like an apartment building containing about a dozen flats, from the look of it and the amount of windows. There was a small blind alley on the opposite side of the road, containing nothing but a few dumpsters and smelling strongly of urine, but it provided a good, concealed lookout point to watch the entrance of the house the apparent messenger had walked into. Vincent adjusted his pack and took up position.

And waited.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x **_

Shortly after the courier entered the house a window lit up, and after memorizing its position, hiding his bag between the dumpsters and waiting for the light to go out again, Vincent moved. The entrance turned out to be unlocked. Suppressing a shake of his head at such carelessness, he walked in and up the stairs, turning right and walking down the hallway, counting doors. The last door on the right was locked but proved to be no hindrance to his skills. With a faint metallic scraping and click of the lock, Vincent let himself in and silently closed the door behind him.

The flat was dark and silent, but after a few careful steps, he heard the unmistakable sound of someone snoring. He followed the sound to the bedroom, walked soundlessly over to the bed and went down into a crouch. The blissfully ignorant man turned around in his sleep and faced Vincent, his lips slightly parted. Vincent pulled his silenced pistol and slowly lifted his hand to close it around the man's shoulder while the muzzle of the pistol came to rest against his temple.

He jerked up with a grunt and stared ahead with widening eyes, although due to the darkness in the room he could see no more than an outlined shadow.

"If you cooperate, you will come to no harm. I have no interest in you, only in information."  
As the surprised, confused man obviously recognised the sensation of a gun pressed to his temple, he nodded, his breathing fast and ragged.  
"Good." Vincent removed the gun. "It is only a simple question. You were supposed to pick up a package at Cassidy's Caravan upon their return to Shady Sands. I assume you do not know what the package would have contained or who sent it, and we have no interest in shooting the messenger. So if you tell me when and where you were supposed to deliver the package and to whom, we will do our best to the end that no one will associate you with a rather dangerous scheme of smuggling sensitive military material that has been... lost.

"Oh shit. Oh no..." He could hear the man swallow heavily. "Fuck, I'm not being paid enough for that kind of shit. Was to meet a man in Cheney's Coffee Bar downtown, day after the caravan's arrival, eleven p.m. He'd approach me after I ordered 'a cold beer to wash down the dust and a vodka, straight, without ice, to keep it company' if I had the package and 'a coffee with shitloads of sugar and a dash of whiskey' if I hadn't. That's all I know, I swear!"  
"Very good. I guess I do not have to remind you that silence is a virtue."  
"Sure as fuck not, mister. Just don't shoot me, please. I was just short on caps and took the job. I knew it was too good to be true."  
"You might want to listen to your instincts in the future." Vincent got up. "You may also not want to wait until your merit is recognised by my superiors, as their benevolence could attract attention you'd rather avoid. Lay low. Better yet, leave the area. When push comes to shove someone might decide you are more deeply involved in this affair than you actually are. Someone might decide a pawn sacrifice is needed."  
"I get you", the man replied, breathing heavily and emitting the acrid stench of fear. "I totally get you. I'm out of here tomorrow, if I live that long. Shit. Oh shit shit shit."

After slowly walking backwards towards the door, Vincent slipped the pistol into a pocket again and vanished as fast and as silently as he could. He could hear the man sob and swear behind him as he quickly left the house to retrieve his bag.

It didn't quite take him half an hour to walk to the city centre but more than two to find Cheney's Coffee Bar, a dirty, dimly lit gin mill at the end of a dark and smelly back road. He didn't do more than cast a look through the windows, however, as it by then was so long past midnight that it would soon be morning again and he had to find a place to rest as he needed his wits to be sharp and untroubled by lack of sleep.

He found a small inn two streets away and booked himself a room for the rest of the night, allowing himself to sleep a few hours into the morning before ordering a sparse breakfast downstairs. He went back to his room afterwards and locked the door behind him before he sat down on the bed with his pack from which he produced the pip boy he had managed to steal out of the King's safe before leaving Vegas. Shaking his head again at the King's notion of things being safe in his bedroom while sleeping so soundly that an intruder had been able to come in through the window, pick the safe and vanish again, Vincent slipped the pip boy on and placed an empty holotape into the slot.

As he hadn't had the time yet to concern himself with it from the need for secrecy it took him a while to figure out how to make an audio recording, but it turned out to be easy enough. As was the message he recorded.

"If you want to get your hands on the original holotape without further copies in our possession falling into the hands of Kimball and Oliver, meet me at Cheney's Coffee House. I shall be there every evening at nine p.m. and will reveal myself to you when you order a double shot of vodka on ice because it has been a dreadful day. You have a week from tomorrow, the 24th."

He then wrapped the disc first into a bit of paper, then into some scraps of cloth and slipped it into a paper bag, tying a piece of string around it. He rested for another hour, had another sparse meal and bided his time until it was ten minutes to eleven. He left the inn and made his way to the meeting place, entering precisely at eleven p.m. He went to the bar, dropped his bag and placed his order.  
"A cold beer to wash down the dust and a vodka, straight, without ice, to keep it company."

Having received his drinks he turned to find himself a table when he was hailed, to his surprise, by a female voice. "John? John Doyle?" A young woman with a military hairstyle but wearing civilian clothing approached him with a laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "My god, it's been years, but I know that order everywhere. Didn't think you'd still drink the same stuff. Say... Fancy a drink with me?"  
Vincent slowly tilted his head. "I seem to have trouble remembering you."  
"Rosie", she said, still smiling. "Rosie Truman, don't you remember? We... we served together at the dam... what was it? Five years ago? I heard you were working as a courier now, but that can't be true?"  
"I am, in fact. I was discharged as unfit for service after the battle."  
"Shit." She shook her head with a sad sigh. "Come on, I'll stand you one. For old time's sake, yes? Or would you rather have a coffee at my place?"  
"For old time's sake?" He smiled in return and leaned ever so slightly forward.

She nodded, slipped her arm through his and they left the grimy place behind, walking through the dark back roads until they reached cleaner, better lit areas and a little while later a small house with a small garden. She unlocked the door, let him in and locked the door again behind her.

After switching on the light, she walked into the small kitchen, beckoning him to follow. "Drink?"  
"I'd rather have my business concluded."  
"The package?"  
He placed it onto the table.  
"Good. Here's the pay." She handed him an envelope.  
Vincent found it to contain a rather large stack of NCR dollar bills. He slipped the envelope into a pocket and was about to leave. "Thanks."  
"Wait a second."

With every instinct screaming alarm, Vincent slowly looked up at her, outwardly calm yet alert and poised to attack if needed. He didn't expect what happened, however.

"You really were discharged, weren't you?"  
"Yes. Why?"  
"Nothing particular. It's just the way you walk, you know. You walk like a soldier. Why courier, though?"  
"Why do you want to know?"  
She smiled, but this time, it was decidedly warmer. "Curiosity, I guess. Was it after the battle?"  
"The second one, yes."  
"Oh." She pressed her lips together. "Some really big shit, that battle was, from all I heard. Wasn't there, though. Glad I'd been transferred."  
"You'd better."  
"What... uh.. what's your name?"  
Vincent narrowed his eyes. "Why do you want to know?"  
She shrugged. "Curiosity again, I guess. You... you're intriguing, I have to admit. I expected a dumbass civilian, not a soldier down on his luck. Anything..." Her voice suddenly lowered into a soft, silky murmur. "Anything I can do for you?"  
He watched her hand rise and her finger trace his collar and looked up at her face again. Deciding she wasn't worth his time, wouldn't be even if he had still been able, he shook his head. "Sorry to disappoint you. The reason for my discharge was severe lower body injury. I'm useless to you." He took a step back. "I'd better go. Good night."

She stared at him with her face deeply furrowed in pity and wordlessly let him go.

Vincent almost fled into the silent, nightly city and first stopped after he had brought the distance of several blocks between him and the woman. To be honest, even before his injuries he would not have touched a creature like her with a ten foot pole, but being approached like that by a woman and not having a choice to say yes or no bothered him more than he cared to admit.

He forced this line of thoughts away and focussed his mind on the task ahead again. A couple of hours walking cleared his mind, let him find another small and cheap inn where he could buy a room and once he had closed the door behind him, he busied himself with calculating his chances and working out possible courses of action after sleeping a few fitful hours, until it was time to head for the Coffee House again.


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: http:/channet(.)deviantart(.)com/art/Courier-278987281**  
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* * *

**The Strip, February 23, 2282 **

Tara had decided that she wouldn't leave her 'fortress' for a couple of days unless she had to, and with a few books and a few bottles of beer, retired to the cocktail lounge where she kicked off her shoes and made herself comfortable on a sofa.

Only an hour later, however, she heard the intercom beep. With an exasperated sigh, she walked over and pressed the button.  
"Yes?"  
"Sorry to disturb you, ma'm." It was one her guards, and he'd damn better be sorry, as she had given strict orders _not_ to disturb her. "But there's a man here who insists you will speak to him once you know who he is."  
Tara rolled her eyes and sighed. "And who is he?"  
"Name's Dylan, ma'm."  
Tara felt her stomach clench and took a deep breath. "Send him up."  
The guard sounded more than a little puzzled. "Roger."

A few minutes later Tara watched, with her arms crossed, as Dylan left the elevator, wearing a large, greasy and dirty frock from which the smell of cooking and soap emanated.  
"Greetings." He looked around and rested his dark eyes on Tara again. "Did Benny approach you yet?"  
"About what?"  
"About... his feelings."  
Tara cleared her throat. "He did. Last night. Why? And where..."  
Dylan shrugged. "I'm keeping an eye on him, just as Vincent told me. In fact, I work in the Tops as a kitchen porter, cleaner and general gofer so I get around pretty easily. And that fuckwit makes it pretty easy to eavesdrop on him. Anyway, did he ask you out?"  
"He did."  
"Okay. I'd suggest you go, but I advise you not to drink anything that doesn't come out of a sealed bottle, like a beer or a nuka. The way he talked I got the impression he's not above trying to drug you. I don't know anything for sure, but I thought it'd pay to be on guard."  
Taking a deep breath, Tara uncrossed her arms and dragged her hands down her face. "Would he really stoop so low?"  
"Honestly? I don't know. Maybe he just wants to make you drunk and f... take advantage of you. I've heard him talk about your... uh... about your physique a lot. Like, really a lot."  
Tara felt her cheeks burn at the thought of Benny fantasizing about her body. It also made her feel the slightest bit sick.  
"Anyway, I gotta be on my way again, break time's over soon. Can you come down and make one of the guys downstairs pretend I came about a gambling debt? Otherwise there'd be no fucking reason whatsoever for me to enter the place here."  
"Will do."

They took the elevator down together and as Dylan left the Casino Tara told the guards he was working for her undercover. One of the men declared himself willing to make a show of having been paid a gambling debt upon leaving the 38 after his shift and Tara thanked him before she withdrew herself again.

Her mood was quite ruined, however. She stared out of the window, looking west, and wondered for the umpteenth time where Vincent was and what he was doing right now, doing her best in trying to ignore the little ache in her heart whenever she thought of him.  
It wasn't so much that he was gone that hurt her but how he had left. She had trusted him, but obviously, he hadn't trusted her. That stung her worse than anything else. And despite the fact that she wished for him to come back she wasn't sure if she could ever trust him again. Maybe it was better if he never returned at all as not to put her suspicions to the test.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x **_

**Shady Sands, February 23, 2282**

On his way to the coffee bar, Vincent again went over his plans and their implementation, hoping that he hadn't gambled too high. He had only guessed that General Oliver and President Kimball had nothing to do with the attempted assassination, just from what he knew about these men. Especially Oliver seemed to have a strict code of honour, and from what he knew about Kimball he had simply assumed they weren't the ones behind the scheme.  
It was a risky move, and Vincent was fully aware of it. But he also knew that any high ranking officer, their background, culture and beliefs put aside, might be in a position to know better than his superiors, rightly so... or not.

He slowed down a little as he remembered the beginning of Caesar's downfall. The day the courier had entered his tent, alone and – seemingly – afraid and intimidated.  
Caesar had given his orders to destroy whatever was behind those sealed doors.  
The courier had agreed to do whatever he said and vanished.  
They all had felt the earth shake. But when she had returned, Vulpes had seen something in her eyes that set off every alarm in his head. She had avoided his eyes however, after realising he was watching her and was suspicious of her, thus giving him no chance to address her. And since the mighty Caesar had simply assumed she had done as ordered, he had never asked her directly what she had found there and if she truly had destroyed whatever it was. And with her avoiding everyone's eyes, no one had detected her deceit. No one but him. But when he had tried to catch his lord's attention, to make him question her, he had only been given a dark look of warning.

Caesar had let her go, and Vulpes voicing his doubts about her and her merit had almost gotten him flogged again. That was before they had discovered, after she had gone, that their prisoner had mysteriously disappeared as well.  
It had been clear to him even then that she was far from being just a woman trying to find her feet after narrowly escaping death. That even back then, she had been making plans of her own, plans grander than anyone had been able to imagine at that time. She hadn't only deceived Caesar's Legion, but that was a small comfort given the price they had paid. She had outmanoeuvred the NCR, recruited and united tribes across the whole Mojave to fight at her side, had even managed to talk the NCR and the Brotherhood of Steel into going to battle together, deposed of the undisputed leader of New Vegas in the middle of a stronghold casino guarded by more than a few heavily armed security robots and had finally taken command over an army of such robots, defeating the Legion and the NCR, to become the new undisputed leader of the Mojave instead.

And Caesar had believed her to be just a woman.

Vincent suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, remembering his conversation with Tara, the night his memories had returned.

_"Hoover Dam and the Mojave were lost because Caesar, in his hubris, underestimated you on account of your gender. I shall not make the same mistake."_

He realised at that moment that his assumption she would not have understood his choice of action had been more than a bit hasty. Supercilious. That despite telling her he would not make the same mistake as Caesar had done, he had gone and done precisely that. Gritting his teeth he realised that he might have completely ruined his chance of resuming his duty after his eventual return; that all he had achieved with disappearing like that was making her lose her trust in him. That the best he could hope for was being sent away again. That maybe, going back would be a waste of time.

With an angry shake of his head he tried to dislodge the uncomfortable and unfamiliar pressure in his chest; focussing on the anger at his own rashness instead.  
But be it as it might... Vincent set off again at a brisk pace to make it to the coffee house in time. Be it as it might, his chances of making it back were slim at best, had been slim in the first place and were getting slimmer with every passing minute, as were the chances of success for his mission.

Because Vincent had realised that at some point during the day, someone had begun to shadow _him_.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x **_

**The Strip, February 23, 2282**

After her conversation with Dylan, Tara had decided to meet up with Benny after all. She would have to stay alert and never let her guard down, but that wouldn't be too hard a task considering her feelings for the man. She kept suppressing the futile and useless wish that Vincent were here because no one and nothing could ever take advantage of her whatsoever as long as he was around, telling herself very firmly that relying on someone else to mind her own personal affairs was a bad idea.

Shortly before eight o'clock, she went downstairs, wearing her official garments, to wait for Benny who showed up precisely at eight, bearing a bouquet of flowers that he must have harvested from his own courtyard.  
"Tara, you look absolutely stunningly lovely, as usual."  
Tara allowed him to take her hand and kiss it. "Thanks."  
"May I?" He offered her his arm and with a little, inward sigh of resignation Tara let herself be led outside and across the Strip towards the Tops.

Having reached the doors of his establishment, Benny looked over his shoulder at Tara's two guards. "I assure you, baby, these guys won't be necessary inside my own casino."  
Tara gave him a cold look. "They go where I go. It's..." She managed to suppress a smile. "It's the appearance of the thing."  
"Of course." Benny managed to look completely unflustered. "It's not as if I'd attempt anything indecent."  
Tara decided to keep her silence and followed Benny inside. He made a great show of allowing her guards to keep their weapons, and Tara asked herself if he assumed her unarmed or was wise enough not to attempt to disarm her. Since she went nowhere without Vincent's knife she was glad she didn't have to press her luck in trying to keep it concealed and re-assured herself of the feeling of the blade inside her vest. With that weapon, her non-existing skills with a blade wouldn't be an issue if Vincent's words about the poison were true, but while she was having her doubts about him in general, she had no reason to doubt him in this particular instance. She followed Benny into the elevator to the presidential suite where he bade her sit down and asked her if she wanted a drink.

"A beer, and since I have to keep my feet on the ground, at least a little bit, I cling to my habit of drinking from the bottle like a peasant."  
He smiled sweetly and, after opening two bottles, offered her one.  
Tara had watched his fingers as sharply as she could and took the bottle with a nod. "So", she said after taking a sip. "What do you want from me?"  
Benny froze, bottle half-way to his lips. "What?"  
"Why are you courting me like this, all of a sudden? There must be something you want from me?"  
"Tara, baby", Benny replied and put the bottle down, then cast her guards a look with a sigh. "Can't you sent these two...uh... gentlemen at least out of earshot?"  
Tara looked pointedly at her guards, then back at Benny. "No."  
With a sigh, Benny leaned back in his chair, with such a sour face that Tara almost felt sorry for him. After a moment's thought, however, she decided it might be worth it knowing what Benny was actually up to and took a deep breath. "Look. We can go into the adjacent room and leave the door open. That's all I offer."  
"I guess it'll have to do, baby doll."  
"Stop calling me that stupid pet name."  
"Uh... of course."

After relocating into a sitting room and settling down on a sofa, Tara looked at Benny who didn't seem to notice she had 'forgotten' her beer.  
"Tara, baby, I have been thinking a lot, you know. About... ah... about us."  
"Benny, there is no 'us' and there never will be."  
He looked at her out of his big, brown eyes again and Tara had to suppress the feeling of having kicked a puppy. She began to understand why he was so popular with the ladies.  
"I didn't think you'd have a heart of stone, baby."  
Tara shrugged and crossed her legs. "You were saying?"

Benny took a sip of beer and put the bottle down. "I was thinking about... about how there maybe could be an 'us'. I mean... You were obviously meant to rule and I'd never, ever question that. Oh, please, stop pulling those lovely eyebrows together, you're making me nervous. Listen, I know what with me having shot you you've no reason to even like me, but see... after I got to know you I kinda... I kinda..." He leaned towards her, and Tara leaned back.  
"Keep a decent distance."  
Benny pressed his lips together. "Seems I don't stand a chance, huh?"  
"No. I might forgive you for shooting me because, as you pointed out correctly, we didn't know each other then, but I don't trust you. I don't even like you very much, and no amount of courting, flowers and drinks is ever going to change that."  
"Tara..." Benny looked honestly hurt. "You're a very harsh woman. You're breaking my heart to pieces, baby."  
"I'm just the woman I became after crawling out of a grave in Goodsprings. I guess I don't have to remind you who got me into that grave in the first place." With these words she got up and walked out on him with swift, firm steps, quite liking the effect of her skirt swishing around her legs as she did so.  
Behind her, Benny slumped back into the sofa and knocked back his beer, muttering a few choice curses under his breath.


	31. Chapter 31

**Shady Sands, February 23, 2282**

With his back to the wall, Vincent watched the patrons enter and leave the bar for a while until it was getting close to eleven; but just as he was about to leave to try his luck again the next evening someone entered who was familiar to him.

"A double shot of vodka on ice", the woman who had introduced herself as Rosie Truman the day before ordered. "It's been a dreadful day, I need to forget all about it as quickly as possible."  
He slowly got up and walked over to the bar. "Rosie?"  
She looked up, visibly forcing a smile onto her face. "Hi, John."  
"You sound pretty worked over."  
She shrugged. "Boss had his asshole day." Her drink arrived and she knocked it back without moving a muscle in her face.  
Vincent propped one elbow onto the bar. "Can I stand you a drink?"  
She stared into her glass. "One wouldn't even begin to take the edge off, you know."  
"Other things might."

By the way she drew in her breath he might have hit home; even though she was a messenger and knew he was playing both sides, his voice and his words, chosen carefully, still had their desired effect on women. She smiled crookedly up at him and he leaned a little closer so their bodies almost touched.

"I got a bottle or two of a really fine whiskey in a drawer back at my place. Wouldn't mind sharing those."  
He leaned closer yet and whispered into her ear: "We might share a few other things as well. I kind of regret I ran off like that last night." He noticed goose pimples spread on her forearms and had to suppress a smile. When she shrugged and invited him home again he followed, keeping close to her until they reached her house.

"Okay." She slammed the door shut behind her. "No more bullshit. Who the fuck are you and whose side are you on?"  
"My name is Vincent", he gave back. "And I am on my own side. Your scheming endangers my own plans and I want to make sure those plans are not being disturbed any further."  
"Well, it's not me who's been scheming, but that's all you'll get out of me. Big boss would like to speak to you, though. If you go out that back door, there'll be someone waiting for you. He'll take you to him."  
"Thanks." He stepped a little closer to her. "A lot."  
She looked up at him. "And that bullshit you fed me last night about a groin shot?"  
"Was no bullshit at all, regrettably. But being as there is more than one way to Rome..." He let his words trail off into a significant silence and by the way she smiled at him he knew he had caught her, hook, line and sinker.  
"Still feel kinda sorry for you, though. Must be a hard lot for a guy like you."  
"I can't say it's been easy", he all but purred into her ear as he walked around her and sneaked an arm around her waist. "There is little compensation, as most women reject a man with my... condition."

She closed her eyes as his lips grazed her ear and never noticed that his other hand had strayed into one of his pockets. With a move as fast as a striking rattlesnake Vincent swung his garrotte around her neck and pulled, simultaneously pressing his knee into the small of her back. She wasn't able to emit even the tiniest of sounds as her voice box collapsed under the tightly strung piano string, wasn't even able to lift her hands to try and claw at the death trap around her neck. When Vincent released her shortly after, she collapsed, and he caught her body, settling it silently onto the ground.

He cast a last look at her corpse and shook his head as he slipped the garrotte into the pocket again. If the man he was after was as incompetent as his subordinates he would have an easy job, but he wouldn't be holding his breath. Vincent left through the back door and closed it behind him, noticing a man slowly walking into his direction as he did so.

He wasn't sure what to make of it when he noticed that, shortly after leaving the house, his own pursuer had picked up the trail again.

**_x-x-x-x-x-x_**

The man Vincent was following was silent, had just waved him over and beckoned him to follow. He was also most certainly no civilian as despite the civilian clothing, his whole demeanour spelled soldier to anyone who cared to look. They kept to the smaller back alleys, always heading north and east. And all the time Vincent could pick up tell-tale signs of his own pursuer as well. Nothing obvious like a person jumping behind a fence however; whoever it was obviously had some skill. Merely the echo of steps, a shadow around a corner, things that spoke to his instincts more than anything else.

He had to face it: his chances were rapidly decreasing. Even if he succeeded in getting his hands on the man he was after, he couldn't return home before he hadn't dealt with whomever it was that shadowed him now and what he represented. He had no intention to lay a visible trail back to the Courier in New Vegas.

They had finally reached a blind alley where his guide opened a door with a security swipe card. The magnetic code-lock gave a quiet beep as it sealed the door again behind the two men. Despite the lock, Vincent did his best to memorize the way back to the door on the offhand chance of making it that far as he followed his guide up a flight of stairs, along some dimly lit corridors and up another stair that ended right in front of a large metal door that also yielded to his companion's security card. Vincent followed, eyeing the soldier stowing the card away inside his shirt.

The hallways behind this door were thickly carpeted, muffling every step into inaudibility, and the doors to the offices left and right were wooden, not metal.

His guide opened a door to a small office. "You gotta disarm", he said and pointed at Vincent's SMG.  
"Of course." He put the weapon onto the desk together with his silenced pistol and the larger of his two knifes beside it. Then he unbuckled the belt with the throwing knives. The soldier proceeded with a thorough pat-down; and yet when Vincent left the little office, he still had the knife in his boot and the garrotte he had managed to keep hidden.  
"Colonel is waiting in his office", the soldier said in a low voice, pointing down the corridor. "Best not to keep him waiting."

Vincent nodded and turned around, tensing ever so slightly upon noticing that his guide seemed not to follow him. A flick of his hand dislodged the garrotte and when the man turned his back on Vincent the latter spun around and disposed of him as he had done with Truman. After hiding the corpse in the small office and picking up his weapons again, he walked down the hall where he deposited the SMG in a doorframe before heading for the last room at the end of the hallway where light was spilling out into the dimly lit corridor from under the door, tapping at his pip boy as he did so.

Vincent took a deep breath and knocked.

"Come in."  
He opened the door, but remained in the doorframe, his left thumb hooked leisurely into his belt where his pip boy was inconspicuously making its audio recording.  
"So." The man sitting behind the desk looked unremarkable, a soldier born and bred with a ramrod straight back and broad shoulders, a square face and dark, narrow eyes. "Colonel McTavish, head of the NCR Military Police. I guess we need to discuss a thing or two, Mr...?"  
If Vincent had needed any more proof that he wasn't meant to leave this building alive, being told this man's name and rank had done so. He just nodded and straightened up. "My name is Vincent."  
"Vincent...?"  
"Just Vincent, sir."  
"You're god damn fucking resourceful for a petty wastelander."  
"You may have guessed that I am more than a simple wastelander, sir."  
"Huh. Damn right I have." The colonel opened a drawer from which he produced a pack of cigarettes. He took one, offered Vincent the pack who leaned forward and took one as well, stepping back towards the doorframe after he had accepted the offered lighter.

"Well." The colonel leaned back in his chair. "I'm not one to waste time in running off at the mouth. I want that package, and I want it asap. Who are you working for and what's your price?"  
"I am working for no one", Vincent gave back after exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I have my own plans and work for my own ends, and your... plans for the Courier collide with my personal interests. I kindly have to request to drop any plans of  
revenge and leave New Vegas and the Mojave alone."  
The colonel tapped off the ash of his cigarette with a thoughtful frown and shook his head with a sigh as he looked up at Vincent again. "I'm afraid I'm disinclined to do so, mister. But I might be able to offer you something else. Every man has his price. Name yours."  
"Leave the Courier alone."

A hoarse chuckle escaped the colonel as he shifted in his seat. "I can't imagine you got this far without being clever enough to realise you ain't getting out of here alive if you don't do as I say. I tried friendly, you know, even if I don't like friendly very much. I have ways of making you talk. Don't make me use them."  
"If your goal was to intimidate me, then I have to inform you that you failed. I still have the disc, and a testimony from Mr... Marshall."  
"Never heard that name", the colonel replied.  
"If I fail to return, these documents will be sent to the Shady Sands Telegraph and to several important persons."

Seemingly unimpressed, the colonel inhaled a cloud of smoke. "And what makes you think I can't send someone there to confiscate that document before it even gets opened? Apart from that, if you're here, telling me to keep my hands from that fucking bitch of a courier, that means she's still alive, so what the fuck should there be on those discs that could pose any threat to me?" He leaned forward and lowered his voice into a dangerous growl. "I didn't get to be where I am today if I didn't know how to deal with someone who's trying to shed a bad light on me. I know how to shift odds in my favour, mister, and I know how to dispose of obstacles. You are an obstacle, and whether you're working for the courier or the fucking ghost of Caesar himself doesn't make one fucking bit of a difference. You're a dead man walking, and the courier will get what she deserves. Kimball and Oliver may be so blind as not to see her as a threat, but I won't let them walk into that trap like so many blind mice. Send your precious discs wherever the fuck you like. I'll dispatch someone tomorrow to take care of that bitch of Vegas and neither you nor Kimball or Oliver can do anything to stop it. Once she's gone, I can take care of the consequences, and it doesn't matter much what happens to me after that. She needs taking down if the NCR is ever to find back to her old strength again."

Still leaning into the doorframe, Vincent had listened to this monologue with an unmoving face and had to realise, much to his dislike, that he might have more in common with this man than he cared to admit. He was just calculating how best to approach him for taking him down, when the colonel surprised him by moving with a speed Vincent hadn't thought him capable of. Suddenly, he was looking into the muzzle of a .44 magnum.

"I'm through with you, and I'm through with the courier. Time to make your peace, mister."

Vincent tensed and poised himself to jump when he heard a soft, hardly audible click behind him. Simultaneously his right ear stung and even as he realised that the warm liquid trickling down his cheek was blood, he also realised that a small, deadly rose was blossoming between the colonel's eyes.

His only conscious thought being that he wanted to look death in the face when it hit him, Vincent spun around, his eyes widening in surprise when he recognised the man behind him.

"I missed", Boone said darkly, holstering a silenced 9mm.

Vincent lifted a hand to his right ear and could feel that a tiny sliver of it was gone; then he looked at his bloodied fingertips and back at Boone again. There could only have been a gap of not more than an inch between his head and the doorframe to provide Boone with a line of sight.

"Happens to the best of us."  
"Won't miss again next time."  
"I am sure you won't."  
"Asshole had it coming, anyway. Can't have anyone shed that kind of light on NCR military. I used to think we were the good guys."  
Vincent lifted his eyebrows.  
"Yeah, I know. Bitter Springs taught me a lesson. But we're not that bad."  
"Not with a man like him gone."  
Boone took a deep breath and looked past him with a frown. "Remembered a few things, back from training for First Recon. Useful for someone who'd want to get out of here unseen."

Without another word or gesture he spun around and walked off at a brisk pace. Vincent only hesitated for a second before hurrying to retrieve his SMG. He followed Boone at a respectful distance, down the corridor and into a hole in the wall that turned out to be a service panel for a ventilation shaft. He pulled it shut behind him and climbed up a narrow metal ladder that, eventually, led him up onto the roof. Crouching low, the two men crawled across the roof and took a fire ladder down that led them into the same back alley where Vincent had entered the building with his guide. Boone hadn't looked back even once and he didn't look back now. Vincent muttered a low thanks that Boone might or might not have heard and took his own way back towards the inn.

With the matter concluded, his mission accomplished with him still alive and free against all expectations, Vincent allowed himself a few moments of triumph before heading for the bathroom. There was only one way to cover his identity, as weak as it was, and with a critical look into the mirror Vincent picked up his razor to finally get rid of the despicable mat of hair in his face.

Having done that, he looked into the mirror again and nodded at his reflection, then watched his face form into a thoughtful frown. Maybe there was a something more he could do to disguise himself; most people were careless watchers and changing his appearance would hopefully throw most of these off his track. He lowered his head to thoroughly moisten his hair and after straightening up, stared at the mirror and picked up the razor again.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x **_

The man who had entered the inn had been a simple civilian with shaggy hair and a beard, wearing shades and a floppy hat. The man who left it in the dead of the night was a mercenary, clad in black leather armour, armed with an SMG and wearing an eye patch, his face and head shaved clean. Ignoring the unfamiliar cold on his bare scalp Vincent headed for the city centre again; because now, after having succeeded in his mission, he had a personal score he very much wanted to settle. With firm, brisk steps Vincent walked south, heading downtown, for the cheap bars so popular with military personnel of lower ranks, to see if he couldn't pick up a trace of a certain Private Jeremiah Hobson.


	32. Chapter 32

**The Strip, February 28, 2282 **

The re-furbishing of the Lucky38's former casino level was finally concluded; the cashier's office had been walled up completely and was now solely Andrew's domain. There he kept his writing materials, which he was hoarding like an old miser, his books and his ledgers. He had a large desk there as well, and after he had managed to install some proper lighting, declared himself satisfied with his work environment and ready for the job.

In this office he and Tara were now sitting and going over some lists that Andrew had painstakingly compiled; they detailed the estimated population of the city against the production of the farms and the few fishermen working at Lake Mead.

"For now we're getting by", Andrew said. "If nothing unforeseen happens. But since we're not forced to gather stock for the winter and can keep producing food throughout the year, we should be fine as long as we don't run out of water."  
Tara nodded thoughtfully. "How could we increase the farms output to have a surplus for alcohol production? I've spoken to Dr Farkas, she told me the hospital is running low on disinfectant."  
Andrew frowned into his ledger. "I guess... I guess if we activate a few more people and establish a few more hectares of maize... that _should_ do the trick. The trouble is..." He scratched his chin.  
"Are we running low on water?"  
"No, not water." Her scribe looked up and shrugged. "It's the fertilizer. To put it bluntly, we're running low on brahmin crap."  
With a soft snort under her breath, Tara shook her head. "So we need more cattle?"  
"If we breed more cattle, we need more fodder. There's only so much grazing for the beasts, as hardy as they are."  
"I don't know the next thing about cattle", Tara admitted. "But couldn't they eat the maize? The plants, I mean, after they're harvested?"  
"We could try that. I'll speak to the farmers. They know these beasts best."  
"They could simply harvest the maize and then let the brahmin onto the fields to graze. Then it'd even be fertilized as well."  
"That could work, you know." Andrew smiled at her. "See, you don't have to know much about animals to have the right ideas."  
Tara returned the smile. "It helps having someone around who knows about these things."

"What? Pre-war agriculture?" He laughed softly, but with a sad little twist around his mouth. "Back in the bunker, it was only a hobby, you know. Learning how societies used to feed themselves isn't on the priority list of Brotherhood scribe in-service education."  
"Though it comes in handy very much now", Tara said gently. "Even though it's a bitter twist of fate how you came to profit from it."  
Andrew shrugged, staring past her at nothing she could see. "I had never seen the sun, felt wind on my face, earth beneath my feet. I thought I didn't have a live in there, only a sad and sorry existence. I used to dream about working and living off the land when I was sitting in class learning how to repair plasma guns. That's why I ran. I wanted a life."  
Tara laid a hand on his forearm.  
He shrugged again and sighed. "It was my own fault, you know. I thought with a plasma pistol and a bag full of stimpacks I'd be safe. I might have planned this better, speak to a few paladins, read a few reports. And then, when I finally got what I had wanted, living off the land by my own hand's work, I wanted nothing more than to go back into a cosy, artificially lit office again. Be careful what you wish for."  
"If you'd still be in the bunker you'd be yearning for the rest of your life."  
"Well." Andrew picked up his pencil and twirled it between his fingers. "But I'd still be a man and able to pass on my knowledge to my kids."

"I know that's only a small consolation, if any", Tara said after a moment's thought. "But the followers have begun building a school, and you could maybe work there and pass your knowledge on to those children, instead. I know it's not the same, but..."  
"You're right, you know." Andrew dropped the pencil. "I should be glad for what I have, not pine for what I lost. Compared to what I've seen some other slaves being put through, I got off comparatively lightly." His mouth was a narrow line as he stared at the table with his eyebrows knitted together.  
"If I may suggest something?"  
He looked up again.  
"You could go and see Dr Usanagi at the medical clinic in Outer Vegas. She's an expert in helping people deal with traumas like yours and she's been working almost non-stop with the former Legion slaves ever since Hoover Dam."  
Andrew took a deep breath. "I might do that. No, I certainly will. I shall..."

A knock on the door interrupted him. One of Tara's guards poked his head in and cleared his throat. "Sorry to disturb you, ma'am. The leader of the Chairmen is here and wants to speak with you."  
Tara suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "I don't have time for his bullshit right now. Tell him to come back tomorrow."  
"He... uhm... he said it's really important."  
"Of course it's important. Everything about this man is important." She emitted a small, indignant huffing noise. "Ass."  
"Uhm... he said it's important for you."  
Tara gave this some thought and after exchanging a look with Andrew, she shrugged. "I guess our business is concluded for now. I'll see you tomorrow."

Andrew nodded and left and Tara followed him out of the office to see Benny stand beside the entrance doors. Once her scribe had left, Benny slowly made his way towards her, a small, annoying smile on his face.

"I need a word with you. In private."  
Tara narrowed her eyes.  
"Believe me, you don't want anyone else to hear this."  
Tara took deep breath as she needed to keep herself from slapping him, and then jerked her head towards the office door. After stepping in behind Benny, she closed the door and crossed her arms. "Well?"

Benny smoothed down the collar of his jacket. "I'm afraid you're not going to like this."  
"Coming from you, I didn't expect I would."  
"You've a bit of a nasty tongue today, baby."  
"Get to the point."  
"Okay, okay." Benny took a small step toward her. "See, I've been thinking. A lot. About..."  
"If you say 'us' again I'll have you thrown out arse first."  
"Tssk, baby doll, that's all you gotta say? I suggest you listen first."  
"Go ahead", Tara said through gritted teeth. Benny's cocky attitude was as annoying as it was worrying.  
"Okay. In fact, I've been thinking about you. And me. See? No us." He chuckled. "Anyway. I've tried what I could, baby doll. I'm heartbroken and rejected. I admit it's not something I'm used to, although I kinda knew you wouldn't be coming on that tab. You know, I did a lot of hard work to get that fucking chip, same as you did lot of hard work to keep it. I know that you're not inclined to share, baby..."  
"It's not sharing my power that's the problem", Tara interrupted him. "It's sharing it with _you_."  
"Hey, and don't I know that, baby doll? Keep it smooth. But I don't wanna give up that easily. That Platinum Chip is mine, and you took it from me."  
"Caesar took it from you, and he gave it to me. I got you out of that fucking mess! Without me, you'd have been crucified, and that is how you repay me? By threatening me?"  
"Oh, Tara, baby, I'm not threatening you."  
"No?" Tara crossed her arms.  
"No, I'm just blackmailing."  
"Oh, if that's all it is." Her voice dripping with scorn, Tara glared at him. "And with what?"  
"Let's see..." Benny tapped his chin with his forefinger. "What was his name? Ah, Vincent."  
Tara felt a cold shudder creep down her spine.

"That's... what he called himself, wasn't it? A former Legionary. And then he fucked off, all of a sudden... god knows why, and god knows where to."  
"And what's that gotta do with me?"  
Benny shrugged. "What do you think the people of New Vegas will do when they learn that he was a Legion spy? Living together with you, under a roof, sleeping door to door... a bit strange you should put so much trust into an enemy, I'd say. Unless..." He made a small, pregnant pause. "Unless, he wasn't an enemy at all."  
"What?"  
"Well, it's _said_ that you drove the Legion and the NCR off the Dam and chased Legion remnants for another week after the battle. But you know... no one ever found any bodies."  
"I had them buried", Tara gave back, but even to her own ears she suddenly sounded weak.  
"Maybe. But maybe... maybe there simply were no bodies. Maybe that was all part of an elaborate scheme to take Vegas from the inside. You have been inside Caesar's tent, everyone knows that. No bodies, and now... and now that Legionary bodyguard you were so fond of suddenly upped and disappeared... whatever for, if not to alert his lord and master that the city is ripe for the taking?"  
"You... you wouldn't dare..." Tara's voice was hoarse with fury.  
"Oh, but it all fits together, doesn't it? And so neatly, too."  
"And what about Vince's injuries?", Tara managed to say after a moment.  
"We all know how the Legion treats their men. How strong their loyalties are. So why wouldn't it be entirely possible for someone to go through that willingly... you know, true to Caesar and that shit? Especially if that someone was a... what do you call them? One of their spies and infiltrators?"  
Tara didn't take the bait, but she had a hard time keeping her face under control.  
"Oh, I remember. Especially if that someone was the head and leader of those... Frumentarii?"

Her heart hammering inside her chest Tara fell against the door and swallowed. Benny adjusted his tie with a cocky grin.

"You didn't know? Or did you, and I hit the truth more accurately than I thought?"  
"I am not in lieu with the Legion!", Tara rasped.  
Benny shook his head with a mock pitiful expression. "Then you didn't know that the man who was sleeping next door for all those months was the leader of their spies? None other than Vulpes Inculta himself?"  
Tara failed to think of a reply.  
"You didn't honestly expect I wouldn't recognise the man who put me in chains and... persuaded me to spill everything I knew about House and the chip? Eye patch or no eye patch... there's a few things a man doesn't forget that fucking easily, Tara."  
"If you knew, then why the fuck didn't you say something before?"  
"Huh. Because I've got reasons to be afraid of this man, Tara. I'm not easily scared, but that guy is someone I wouldn't mind never seeing again. I thought it wise not to let on I recognised him, you dig. Came in handy, like, after he fucked off on you like that. Because now, it all paints a nice, colourful picture. Doesn't it?"  
Tara swallowed. "And what do you want now?"  
"A piece of the cake, baby doll. I'm the big-leaguer of New Vegas, and you've got the place that should've been mine from the start. But, you know, I don't mind sharing. You don't have to go into exile or something. Wouldn't pay to send a fine dinner like you into the desert. So either there's a wedding, and that's going to be pretty soon, mind, or I'll spill what I know. I guess the good people of Vegas will have to look for someone new and worthier to bear the burden of leadership after they've torn you to pieces for attempting to feed them to the Legion."  
"There is no Legion anymore..."  
"Says who? Where is the proof of that?"  
"But the slaves where there, in the camp! They'd never..."  
"In the camp, yes. Locked away in the slave pens. Listening to securitrons descending on the Fort. None of them actually saw any Legionary being killed by a robot, did they? Because all the troops were at the dam. And their only source about the fate of Caesar himself... is you."

With her face as white as a shroud, Tara pushed herself off the door and stared at Benny, wishing feverishly to wake up from this nightmare. "You don't mean that..." Her voice cracked and she swallowed. "They wouldn't believe you..."  
"I wouldn't rely on that. The facts speak for themselves, and you know I can be very persuasive if I have to."

At a complete loss for words Tara shook her head, but she knew he was right. Once this would get publicly known there would be a panic on the streets that would be very hard to contain. And a mob with torches and pitchforks, hungry for her traitor's blood.

"So... do we have a deal, baby?"  
She stared at Benny and tried to think of an answer. She failed, though.  
"Great." Benny took a step forward and, after cradling her face in his hands, kissed her with hungry possessiveness. Tara didn't resist him and had a hard time fighting back tears of fury and frustration. Presently, she couldn't do anything but play along, hoping that eventually, she would manage to think of a solution.  
When Benny broke the kiss he smiled affectionately down at her and sighed. "I knew you'd come to warm up to me, baby doll. See you tomorrow."

He left her, and Tara slowly sank into a chair beside Andrew's desk and, after burying her face in her hands, swallowed heavily a couple of times. "Oh god Vincent", she said, her voice thick and hoarse. "What have you done to me?"

A part of her still refused to believe he was a traitor, but she knew, deep down, that if she would ever lay her hands on Vincent again, as unlikely as it was, she would kill him.

She would _have_ to have him killed.


	33. Chapter 33

**Shady Sands, March 1, 2282**

After a couple of days Vincent had found three different bars where the regulars were mostly soldiers, but as much as he asked around, no one had ever heard of a Private J. Hobson. But since no one had voiced any doubts or even cocked an eyebrow upon listening to his cover story, so that at least wouldn't pose a problem.

Another evening had passed, another handful of fruitless questionings, and by now, after a week, Vincent asked himself if he shouldn't abandon his attempt at revenge and return back home. He could be running through the whole republic without ever picking up a trace of the man. He was a soldier, after all. He might be dead already for all he knew. Vincent finished his beer and put the empty bottle down just as another group of soldiers entered the tap room, all of them unfamiliar to him. After having watched them buy drinks and settle down around a table, he cautiously approached them.

"Excuse me?"  
"What?" The one who had spoken looked a bit more weathered than the rest.  
"I was wondering if you could help me. I was discharged after Hoover Dam, but I am looking for the man who saved my life in that battle. I lost track of him but I never got to thank him."  
"Huh." The soldier looked him up and down, taking in his appearance, the scars, the eye patch, and nodded. "Damn if you weren't. Sit down. What's his name?"  
Vincent helped himself to a chair. "His name tag read Private J. Hobson."  
"Hobson?" He took a sip of his drink. "Hobson... do you know what unit he was in?"  
"No. I had no chance to speak with him. I was wounded and one of those red bastards was about to finish me off when he happened by. Took the bastard out and called for a medic. But I was out cold for a couple of days after the battle, and it took me a couple of months to remember my own name."

The soldier exchanged a few glances with his fellows who shrugged or shook his head. "Sorry to disappoint you", he said. "I guess you gotta go to HQ and ask there. They've got the personnel lists."  
Vincent nodded silently, realising that for him, this wasn't an option. But just as he was about to thank them and leave, one of the others suddenly frowned.  
"Hobson? Don't know about his rank, man, but my cousin Jack used to serve with a Hobson. Told me about him, because... you know... ah... the poor fucker ended up in Bishop, in the SWI."  
"SWI?"  
"Sanatorium for War Invalids", the soldier explained. "It's a booby hatch."  
"A what?"  
"A Loony bin? Nuthouse? It's an asylum, man. He went nuts after the Dam. Jeez, that head injury did some strange things to you, ain't?" The man chuckled and took a sip of his drink.  
"You could say that twice and be only half true."

They all laughed a little too loud at Vincent's last words. As soldiers, it was hard for them to hear those stories of men breaking under the strain of war. They all took sips of their drinks and one of them passed a pack of cigarettes around.

Vincent took one and leaned back in his chair. "It's worth checking if that man is Hobson, but Bishop is not precisely around the corner. Would you mind telling me where I could get in touch with your cousin Jack? It's worth checking if it's the right Hobson we're talking about before hiking all the way to Bishop."  
"Of course. Here, he lives up north, on the outskirts of the city, on a small farm up there. He took a few months leave after the Dam. Take the Reno road up north and head west a bit after leaving the city, up there everyone you ask for Jack Montgomery oughta be able to point you in the right direction."  
"Thanks a lot. Can I stand you a drink for that?"  
"Won't say no", the soldier replied with a laugh.  
Vincent bought a round for the whole table and after accepting another smoke, and after a bit of small talk about the fortunes of war, he left to head for the inn he was currently staying at.

After closing the door of his room behind him, he sat down on the bed to contemplate his next steps. So he had finally picked up a trace. Thinking about his route back he believed it to be best if he checked out Jack Montgomery first; he would come through Bishop on his way back anyway and could deal with Hobson then. He was confident he would be able to extract information of either of these men as to the whereabouts of the third man, and with the prospect of finally being able to get his hands on the men who had emasculated and crippled him, he fell asleep fast that night and his sleep remained free of his usual, haunting dreams.

Vincent woke again with dawn casting its first grey light through the window of his room. He dressed and packed without wasting any time, had a sparse breakfast and was out of the door with sunrise, heading for the market where he spent the morning acquiring most of what he needed for the journey back as he thought it likely that after his encounter with Montgomery, he would need to leave the city fast and secretly, planning on getting the rest of the necessary provisions in Bishop.

With noon he was on the Reno road north, following the helpful directions the young soldier had given him, and once he had reached the outskirts of Shady Sands, turned west, passing small farmhouses with large vegetable gardens and a few larger ones with brahmin pens. A young man was working on mucking a brahmin pen of a larger farm as he passed it, and when Vincent enquired about his destination, the farmhand, a guy whose slack facial expression suggested a substantial lack of brains, pointed him into the direction of the Montgomery farm, explaining the way as minutely as if he was talking to someone as dim-witted as himself. Vincent thanked him politely and got on his way again.

The Montgomery farm was a small, whitewashed building with green shutters, a large vegetable patch and a few potted flowers beside the door. It seemed well-to-do in the dimming light of approaching dusk, but upon closer examination it became clear that everything was run down, close to being shoddy, and the two dogs that were lounging in front of the door looked half-starved and mangy. Vincent gave the house a wide berth to avoid alerting the dogs and headed for the small barn behind it. He entered the draughty building that smelled of mouldy straw and climbed up into the hayloft where he positioned himself at a window. The farmhouse was dark and silent, but from his position Vincent could see the last bit of the road leading up to its door. He heard them long before he could see them; a couple, a man and a woman, locked in a heated argument as they approached the farm. As they got closer, Vincent could distinguish words and phrases, and he also could recognise the male voice.

It made his blood first run cold, then begin to boil. His fingers suddenly itched for the trigger of a pistol, the handle of a knife, and he needed substantial force of will to remain still and observe. He couldn't just shoot him and try to run away, what he needed was the opportune moment, and this wasn't it. Not yet.

The woman was obviously angered about her husband's drunkenness, and the husband – Montgomery – was defending himself telling her it wasn't her business where he spent his caps. They exchanged a few more unpleasantries after that from which Vincent could conclude that he had not only spent caps on alcohol but whores as well, which was what had gotten the woman so angry.  
Then they went inside and shortly afterwards, Montgomery came out of the backdoor where he headed for a chopping block and the stack of firewood beside it.

With a thoughtful frown Vincent watched him pick up the large axe, then silently left the window and climbed down the ladder again. With his footsteps being drowned out by the chopping of the axe and the cracking of wood, he sneaked up on Montgomery and the moment he set the axe down, pointedly cleared his throat. Montgomery spun around and froze.

"Good evening", Vincent said in a low voice. "I don't know if you remember me. We met during the Battle of Hoover Dam."  
"Who are you?", Montgomery rasped, his breath smelling of cheap vodka, and reached for the axe again.

Vincent took a slow step forward, watching the other man's face as he did so. It took a few seconds before Montgomery's eyes went wide and his face ashen. He shook his head and attempted to say something, but after he opened his mouth, no sound emerged. He clutched the axe tighter but didn't move.

"I see you recognise me."  
Montgomery swallowed a couple of times and took a rasping breath. "What do you want?"  
"Firstly, I want to know where I can find the other two."  
"Go fuck yourself."  
"A feat which is not accomplishable for several reasons, the main one being that you made sure yourself that I will never... fuck... anyone ever again, be it myself or someone else. I want their names and locations."  
Montgomery crossed his arms. "Or else?"  
Vincent took another step forward and pitched his voice low. "Do you really want to find out?"  
Montgomery hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting restlessly to and fro and ever so often, to Vincent's eye patch. "Gibson's dead", he finally said. "Hanged himself shortly after we came home, the stupid wimp. Hobson's in Bishop in a sanatorium. He's a nutcase; he never should've been a soldier. Pantywaists. Getting all soppy over a fucking legionary."  
Vincent nodded thoughtfully and took yet another step forward. Montgomery took a step back and closed his fingers a couple of times around the handle of the axe. "And now fuck off, go kill Hobson, you'll be doing him a favour. 'Cause if you're not gone on the count of three, I'll let the dogs lose on you."

Watching him closely, Vincent took a slow and cautious step back, just before Montgomery attacked him with a growl, and pivoted quickly on his heel to avoid the swinging axe. Hitting nothing but air, Montgomery was brought off balance and stumbled after the axe's momentum, finally bringing it up again and aiming for Vincent's head with his next swing. But Vincent, being faster, better trained and not influenced by alcohol, was already gone, the axe just slicing through empty air again. Montgomery spun around with another growl, but Vincent was already behind him and had, in the movement, dislodged his garrotte.

Before Montgomery could turn around again, Vincent swung the piano string around his adversary's neck and pulled. Slowly. He didn't use his usual technique of pressing his knee into his foe's back to speed up the process of breaking the voice box and suffocating his enemy. He just pulled slowly, letting Montgomery wheeze and whine as the weapon tightened around his neck, blood welling up around the string as it began to cut the throat with the slow sawing motion Vincent was applying.

"I would teach you the meaning of agony", Vincent whispered into Montgomery's ear. "But I fear me we don't have the time for that."  
Montgomery dropped the useless axe, clawed at his throat and struggled against Vincent's body, but there was no escaping that deadly grip. With a mixture of faint disgust and satisfaction Vincent noticed a sudden stink of hot urine as his former torturer pissed himself in his terror and released the pressure just a little, just a second, allowing Montgomery a single breath before pulling again. This time, however, he pulled properly. Montgomery twitched and couldn't emit any sounds anymore, and after a few seconds more, his body stilled and went slack.

Vincent released his enemy and watched the body collapse on the dusty ground. "I would suggest that next time you do things like that to another man, you'd better make sure he is really dead", he said to the cooling body. "Except there will be no next time."


	34. Chapter 34

**The Strip, March 2, 2282**

Tara had endured two more visits Benny had paid her with a smiling face and a boiling mind, but by now, she was almost ready to simply kill him to put an end to this. The problem was that she knew how good he was at planning, and she couldn't dispose of him without being able to make sure first that he hadn't deposited compromising material somewhere where it would be bound to be found after his demise. But for that, she needed to gain his trust.

She was waiting for him in the cocktail lounge, and since she had given him an access card for the elevator which let him enter the lounge at his own will she wouldn't have to give her guards orders to let him in. She hadn't given him access to the suite or the penthouse, however, the former because she couldn't stand the thought of him surprising her in her own bedroom and the latter for the obvious reason because it was where Yes Man's interface was located.

He had accepted this limited concession with surprisingly little fuss, and Tara was sure that he meant to gain her trust as well. It was a dangerous game of double-crossing she would be playing as Benny was fully aware of her feelings for him, so if she now would cast herself into his arms he'd be more suspicious than ever before. She had to play a game of deceit worthy of a frumentarius, she thought with a sad grin. A word here, a gesture there, and hoping he would buy her show of making it look as if she would be slowly falling for his charms without herself even noticing at first.

She might be able to pull it off, she was extremely good at manipulating and deceiving people, but the problem was, so was Benny. But whatever else happened, she was clear about one thing: She would kill him, no matter the consequences, before he could lay hands on her. She would not end in bed with this man and if it would cost her everything she had worked and fought so hard for to achieve.

The elevator doors opened with a ding and Benny stepped out, looked around and flashed her a wide and happy smile. She got up to greet him with a polite, but distant nod.

"Tara, baby, you're looking more beautiful than ever."  
"Thanks." She smiled shortly and suppressed it again, noticing that he had seen it, yet he only cocked an eyebrow upon doing so.  
"Benny... let's sit down. We need to talk."  
"I don't like it when you talk like that, baby."  
Yet he sat down beside her on a sofa and looked expectantly at her, his hands folded in his lap.  
"See, I've been thinking about the wedding."  
"Swell. Set a date yet, baby?"  
"No. That's the trouble. See, you know that Julie and the King are getting married soon and I..."  
"Don't say no more", Benny said with a grin and took one of her hand. She resisted briefly but let him keep it. "You want a double wedding. Nothing I'd rather..."  
"No, you don't understand. See... Julie... Julie's my best friend. And I... I don't want to spoil her big day, the happiest day of her life, by turning it into a second class event compared to the wedding of the... Courier. You... do you understand?" She looked at him beseechingly and closed her fingers around his.

Benny frowned at her, but then shrugged. "Yeah, I dig. It's a girl's thing, right? How long are we talking?"  
"Three to four weeks? Please?"  
"That's a long wait, pussycat."  
"I know... but... look, there's the issue of logistics as well. A wedding like ours has to be properly celebrated. And that requires planning and organising. Or what do you think the people would think about the Courier getting married in a closet with no guests and no celebration?"  
"Well, I dig that, sure." Benny smiled at her and again, Tara returned that smile for s split-second before wiping it off her face. His smile broadened the slightest bit upon noticing this and he leaned forward. "In the meantime..."  
"Please." Tara leaned a little back. "I know that it sounds dreadfully antique, but I..."  
"Oh don't tell me you want to wait until the wedding night, baby..."  
"I... I do..." She lowered her eyes and could feel Benny hold her hand a little tighter.

"Oh come on, baby doll. If it means that much to you..."  
Looking up again, Tara forced another, brighter smile onto her face. "Really?"  
"Really. It's not going to be easy for ol' Benny, you know, but for you, baby, I'd do almost anything."  
"I like the 'almost'", Tara gave back, still smiling. "And I thank you. It does mean a lot to me." _Namely, you not getting your hands on me._  
"I admit I don't get it, baby doll, but if that's how you wanna play then I guess I have to play along. But... how about another kiss, baby?"

Tara took a deep breath and then offered him her cheek. With a crooked, little smile, Benny leaned forward and placed a soft kiss there, then moved his lips to her ear. Tara shuddered, but from revulsion, yet Benny seemed to misinterpret it and chuckled softly under his breath as he moved his lips to the side of her neck.

"Warming up to me after all?", he whispered against her skin before nibbling her earlobe and Tara let a sigh escape her, managing to make it seem as if she was trying to suppress it.  
"I... I don't like you..." She whispered, and Benny chuckled again before burying his hands into her hair.  
"But you like this, don't you, baby doll? More than you want to admit, maybe, but you like it. Don't you?"  
"No", Tara whispered, but didn't resist when he moved his lips across her cheek again to claim her lips with his. She could feel him smile into the kiss, but he didn't attempt to thrust his tongue into her mouth. He knew very well how to seduce a woman, and in other circumstances Tara might truly have liked what he was doing.

Benny pulled her close and she let him, concentrating on her thoughts of how to get rid of him, that she was just doing this because she had to. His hand wandered down her leg, but the long, heavy leather skirt didn't allow him to just sneak his hand under it and slide it up her leg again. He broke the kiss with a frustrated, little grin. "The impracticability of official garments, huh, baby doll?"  
Tara made a show of calming her breathing and shrugged. "I do have my reasons for wearing them."  
"Oh I dig", Benny chuckled and brushed a few strands of her hair behind her ear. "But it's a hard thing you ask of me, to wait that long, I mean."

"You'll be the prince of Vegas soon enough, Benny."  
"That's not what I meant, pussycat", he gave back with a tiny hint of annoyance in his voice. "It's you I was talking about."  
"Me?" Tara chuckled with visible disbelief. "I thought this was about power, not me."  
"Well..." Benny leaned forward again and smiled warmly, looking intently at her with his soft, brown eyes. "Such a barn burner as you, baby doll... oh, I forget myself, don't I... such a beautiful classy woman would warm my little heart without being the Queen of Vegas, you dig? And other spots of my body."  
Tara managed to smile. "And here I thought it was all about the chip."  
"Well, baby doll..." Benny ran a finger down her cheek. "If it was just about the chip I'd have tried to get you out of my way as soon as that annoying bodyguard of yours had disappeared and not wasted my time in trying to win your heart, dig?"  
"Oh." Tara wished she could have made herself blush, but since she couldn't, she did her best in smiling shyly and lowering her eyes. "I thought... I honestly thought..."  
"Tara, baby..." Benny's voice was low and silky as he buried a hand in her hair. "I know I can be a bit of a cheater and deceiver, but this isn't only about the chip. If you'd marry me without blackmailing, I'd be the happiest man on earth."  
"Oh Benny..." Tara breathed, still not meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry if I...  
"Here now, pussycat." He lifted her chin with a gentle forefinger. "If you forgive me for trying to kill you before I knew you, then I'll forgive you for being such a hard-hearted girl."  
"Really?"

As an answer, he just kissed her again and Tara slung her arms around him, trying to keep her revulsion at bay. Before, she hadn't liked Benny very much, but by now, she had started to hate him. She hated his very guts, but she needed his trust. More than ever she regretted her good deed of having saved him from the Legion and she swore to herself that she would never show such mercy again to anyone who had harmed her before.  
She did allow Benny's hand to drift under her vest and cup a breast, but she didn't allow another attempt of the other hand to find a way under her skirt and leaned back when he closed her hand around hers.

"We still need to wait until the wedding night. Please... you have to understand. It's the appearance of the thing."  
"Oh I do understand baby doll, but it's getting harder by the second. Resisting the temptation is, too." He winked.  
"You poor man", Tara replied in a low and what she hoped was a silky voice. She had never needed to seduce anyone and could only hope she was doing the right things. A thought hit her that scared her not a little, but if she would be able to pull it through, she might have earned his trust for good. She got up, but only to kneel down before him. He followed her with his eyes and a small, cocky smirk began to show on his face as she looked up at him.  
"I may be able to do something for you", she whispered, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "As a compensation for the harshness I showed you."  
"Baby", Benny replied, his voice a little shaky. "There's no need..."  
"But there is", she replied when she eyed his crotch and his visible erection. To get it over with she reached out and unzipped his pants, and as Benny closed his eyes with a few muttered words that sounded halfway between a prayer and a curse, Tara cautiously and slowly unpacked his dick, the first she had ever touched, as far as she could remember, and used all her force of will to lean over it and take it into her mouth as deeply as she could.

Benny dug his fingers into her hair while muttering words of praise and thanks while she worked him with tongue and lips, needing all the strength she had to keep from retching. She was just wondering how long she would have to keep this up when Benny's muttering became urgent and his breathing erratic, and seconds later he groaned her name as her mouth suddenly filled with a thick, salty and slightly bitter liquid. She swallowed it, because she didn't know what else to do, but she had to swallow it a couple of times before it finally stayed down. Luckily, Benny didn't notice her desperate attempts of not puking into his crotch.

When she got up again, with shaking hands and weak knees, he gave her a soft, besotted look and asked her in a low whisper to come sit on his lap. She did so, let him cuddle her close, placed a kiss on his cheek and stayed there until it was time for him to go again.

He made his farewell with passionate kiss that Tara returned, yet as soon as he had left her, Tara took the elevator to the suite, headed for the bathroom and fell onto her knees in front of the toilet where she violently and thoroughly threw up. Afterwards she felt slightly better, then she rinsed her mouth with water, stumbled into her bedroom and, after removing and placing her clothes onto the chair, crawled into her bed where she buried her face into the pillows, wishing to never see the sunlight again.


	35. Chapter 35

**Bishop, March 3, 2282**

Where the brahmin caravan had needed three days to get from Bishop to Shady Sands, Vincent managed the way back in two, as a single man, travelling light and physically trained and fit, could cover a lot more ground than a brahmin pulling a cart ever could. And since he had been trained exceptionally harsh for precisely these conditions, namely, travelling fast and with baggage through the desert, he could make thirty miles a day if he had to. If managed to keep that up, the journey back would take him two weeks instead of the three the caravan had needed for the way to Shady Sands.

Finding the SWI in Bishop wasn't a great feat, but since he couldn't just walk in and kill an inmate there, he would have to stick to his story to find Hobson, and then return at night to dispose of him. He walked through the main entrance and found himself in a large, depressingly dimly lit hall where a woman was sitting at a large desk, wearing a white nurse's outfit with the sign of the Followers of the Apocalypse emblazoned on the sleeve.

She noticed him when he walked up to her desk and glared at him over her glasses, then pointedly looked back into her notes again. "Just a moment."  
Since waiting was nothing that gave him any troubles, Vincent remained where he was, staring straight ahead, not moving a muscle until after about five minutes of dead silence, the nurse dropped her paperwork and sighed. "Yes? What do you want?"  
"I'd like to visit Jeremiah Hobson."  
"I'm afraid I can't just let anyone in to visit our patients, Mr...?"  
"Montgomery. Jack Montgomery."  
"Mr Montgomery", the nurse went on. "If you were family, that'd be another matter, but our patients are mostly in a very unstable frame of mind, and strangers walking in on them can have devastating effects."  
"I have visited him before", Vincent gave back, and the nurse lifted her eyebrows but got up and went to a filing cabinet, sorted through a few folders, checked the contents of one and shrugged. "Yes. All right." She closed the filing cabinet again. "Follow me."

He did so, and followed her up a flight of stairs and down a corridor where she stopped at one of the doors and knocked. A timid voice answered from within and the nurse opened. "Mr Hobson?"  
"What?"  
"Your Friend Jack Montgomery is here to see you."  
"Jack? Oh! Oh... Oh, Jack, all right."  
The nurse stepped aside and fully opened the door, and trying not to think of how he would get out of here again without killing the nurse, Vincent stepped into the doorframe. Hobson looked up, smiled, then froze. The smile died on his lips and even as the nurse took a step forward, looking worried, Hobson began to scream.  
"It's the Legionary! Oh my god it's the Legionary! No! Please! I don't want to hang! Oh god no! NO!"

The nurse shooed Vincent out of the room with hasty flicks of her arm and closed the door behind her. Vincent could hear Hobson cry and wail and sob like a terrified child while the nurse was suddenly speaking with a soft and firm and soothing voice, telling him everything would be fine, that the Legionary was gone, and that he should just take another dose of his medicine, and everything would be fine. Silence followed her words, and after a few moments more, the door opened again and the nurse stepped out, giving Vincent an apologetic look.

"I do apologize", she said after a heavy sigh. "But it's getting worse and worse with him. I'm sorry, but currently it wouldn't be a good idea..."  
"I understand", Vincent said. "I... I don't like it, but I do understand. If he thinks I'm a Legionary..."  
The nurse sighed again. "I wish we could do more for him than just sedate him, but so far, no attempt of trying to reach him as made him open up and talk about what happened to him at Hoover Dam."  
Vincent just nodded and the nurse escorted him out again.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x **_

After having booked himself a room in a small inn at the southern end of Bishop, Vincent made his way back to the sanatorium shortly after dusk. He understood now what Montgomery had meant with 'doing him a favour' if he killed Hobson, and he had to admit it took the edge of his feeling of revenge. But kill him, he would. No one did things like those to him and lived.

It was dark when he reached the sanatorium again and with counting windows, he found the room that should be Hobson's. There were no guards on the premises, to keep the patients safe it was enough to keep them locked away. Vincent climbed the wall, using the window frame on the ground floor as a foothold, and with little effort, chinned himself up after getting a hold of the window of Hobson's room. He climbed onto the windowsill, looked inside, and unsheathed his knife to pry the window open. After a few attempts he succeeded, then silently pushed the window open and climbed inside.

Yet as soon as he stepped up to the bed, Hobson opened his eyes. This time he didn't scream, however, just stared at Vincent with his eyes so wide that even in the darkness of the unlit room, Vincent could see the white in them.

After a long moment, Hobson broke the silence. "You killed Jack. And now you're here for me." It wasn't a question, and Vincent didn't answer.  
"Harry is, you know. Dead I mean. He hanged himself, but fuck, I couldn't..." His voice began to shake and Vincent braced himself, pulling his pistol to shoot him before he could scream and alert the staff. "I couldn't... Jack told me... he told me that if I'd blow the whistle I'd hang as a criminal of war. I... I don't want to hang. But I... I couldn't get my hands on a gun..."  
Vincent continued to silently stare at him. At least he had the confirmation now that the third man truly was dead and he had been cheated out of his full revenge.  
"Look..." Hobson sat up and swallowed. "Look, I'm sorry... I know that sounds ridiculous, but... I was caught up in that, and I got cold feet, but... I... I never meant to do that, please..."  
"That's enough." Vincent took a step forward. "You're a pathetic weakling, a spineless, worthless coward. You should have had the courage to stand up against those men, but you didn't, so don't whine now when it's far too late. You're not worthy of even breathing when so many better men died in that battle."

Hobson stared up at him in silence, his eyes still wide and his breathing fast.

"But you came to kill, me, didn't you?"  
"Yes. But since you were the only one to display any kind of mercy and meant to put me out of my misery, I will give you the choice denied to me. The window is open. You can have a head start."  
"Or?" Hobson's voice shook.  
"Or I could give you a gun for you to preserve a last shred of dignity and do it yourself."

Hobson sobbed again and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. After another moment, he said in a thick and trembling voice: "I'll take the gun."  
After taking another step forward Vincent held out the silenced pistol, which Hobson took with shaking hands, still sobbing under his breath. Vincent didn't suspect him for a second to point the gun at him and took a step back again, as turning his back on Hobson would be asking too much. In the darkness of the unlit room he couldn't see what he was doing, but after a few moments more, he could hear Hobson take another shaky breath around an object in his mouth before he heard the unmistakable click of the silenced pistol.

With slow steps Vincent returned to the bed, retrieved his pistol from Hobson's unresisting hand and slipped it back into his holster. "Some men aren't worthy to be soldiers", he said in a low voice. "But you wouldn't have been worthy to be fed to the Legion's dogs."

With a frustrated shake of his head he headed for the window, climbed down the wall and headed back towards the inn in fast steps, leaving Bishop again before sunrise.

With the sun to his left he headed south, following the Three Flags Highway again, but south this time, with a long, lonely journey ahead of him.


	36. Chapter 36

**Three Flags Highway, March 5, 2282 **

Two days of travelling alone down the old, cracked tarmac road through empty, dusty desert, and Vincent reached Lone Pine where he planned on re-supplying with water and resting for a day. He meant to push past Lake Owens during the night as the salt lurks inhabiting the salt pan were only active during daylight. From what he had been told, at least. So he spent the day in the only inn the town had, lying on a narrow bed in a communal bed room, waiting for late afternoon.

He had made no more than a couple of miles however, when, with the beginning dusk, the weather suddenly changed. First it got windy, but within half an hour, before Vincent had had the chance to look for any kind of shelter, the wind had matured into a fully grown sand storm that now attacked him with a viciousness and brutality that he hadn't been able to imagine. Caught right in the middle of this hell, he had no choice but to press on in the hope of somehow making it past the lake before daybreak. Vincent stumbled onward as fast as the treacherous ground would allow, but the wind seemed dead set on letting his journey come to an end, as soon after nightfall it changed direction and now came from the south, blowing straight into his face.

Vincent staggered into Olancha shortly after sunrise – the storm having blown itself out in the small hours of the night – rubbed raw by the sandstorm and so encrusted with sand and salt he almost looked like a kind of salt lurk himself. The first people to see him were the owner of the local trading post and inn and his wife, who were just opening their business for the day. The man called for help as he hurried over and the woman called for her daughter. Both women hurried for the well as the innkeeper had reached Vincent's side.  
"Easy now, boy, don't move, or you'll crack like a badly baked pot. Dontcha move."

In his current state Vincent found it easy enough to obey, so he remained still, trying to ignore his burning skin and eyes, as the trader carefully pulled Vincent's rucksack of his back. A few other people, the innkeeper's wife and daughter in the lead, now arrived with buckets of water from the well and unceremoniously emptied those out over Vincent to wash the worst of the salt and sand off him as fast as possible before the caking of salt could do any more harm to his already flaking skin.

Vincent remained still, astonished at the readiness and willingness of these people to help a complete stranger. The innkeeper's wife took off his hat and goggles, with very careful moves, and her daughter quickly began to wash down his face and hands with a soaked rag.

"Don't speak", she said. "Your skin and lips will crack like an eggshell if you do. Just stay still."

After having washed his hands and face, the parts of him being exposed to the sandstorm, she took a pot of a substance from her mother that she then lathered onto his skin. It felt greasy and smelled strongly of brahmin, but it instantly eased the burning. After smearing the ointment onto his face she did the same with his hands, and first when that was done did the trader's wife offer Vincent a cup of water from her bucket.

He used the first to rinse his mouth off sand and salt, and after spitting out, greedily drank three cups before handing it back to the innkeeper's wife.  
"Thank you", he said, still hoarse despite the water. "I don't know how..."  
"Tcha." The woman waved his attempt at expressing his gratitude aside. "Out here in the Wasteland, we help each other. You're not the first traveller getting caught in a storm out by the lake, and you're not going to be the last."  
"You're the first one coming alone that way, though", her husband fell in. "Or were you with a caravan?"  
"No, I am travelling alone."  
"Pretty risky, but it's not my head. Where are you headed?"  
Vincent thought about it for a moment, then came to the conclusion that he might as well tell the truth. "New Vegas."  
"What? Alone?"  
"Presently, there are no caravans to travel along with."  
"True, but..." The innkeeper scratched his head. "Well... you've got guts, I give you that. And since you're still alive by now I guess you've got a chance of making it that far."  
"I can only hope so." Vincent looked past him, then shrugged. "Do you have a room?"  
"Since there's no caravans, as you so correctly pointed out, we've got more rooms than we like. Come on in."

Vincent followed the trader and his wife inside the trading post that also served as inn and spent the rest of the day cleaning and oiling his armour and his guns. He slept soundly that night, too exhausted to dream, but was awoken sometime in the small hours by someone quietly entering his room. He sat up and watched a figure in a long, cloak-like garment head for the bed, and even if he couldn't see any more, the movements hinted at the figure being female.

His suspicion was proven true when the figure sat down on his mattress and was revealed by the dim moonlight falling through the window as the innkeeper's daughter. He sat up and watched her face that betrayed nothing. "What do you want?"  
"No obligation and no money, if that's what you were thinking. I'm no whore, and I don't wanna tie you down here by screaming rape and forcing you to marry me. I just want some..." She looked away. "Just want a man for the night."  
She was a pretty girl, might have been beautiful if she hadn't been a hard-working, desert-tanned farm woman whose harsh life had aged her long before her time and Vincent wasn't happy to rebuke her. "I'm sorry to disappoint you", he said softly. "The battle of Hoover Dam left me with more than this visible scar." He pointed at his eye. "I've been almost unmanned and I'm completely incapable."  
"Oh." The girl gave him a sad, soft smile and reached out to run a hand through the short stubble of his hair. "That's a real shame, you know. For me. I guess for you it's simply terrible."  
Vincent just shrugged.  
"I guess it wasn't meant to be." The girl folded her hands in her lap and lowered her eyes. "I only want a child, you know, but every man in this fucking armpit of a town is already somehow related to me, and I don't fancy caring for a slack-mouthed, inbred half-wit for the rest of my life."  
"I do understand, and I can't tell you how much I regret not being able to help you."

She looked up again and shrugged, but as their eyes met, she suddenly leaned forward and met his lips with hers in a, to Vincent's surprise, hungry and passionate kiss. A second or two he thought about breaking the kiss and sending her away, but for a reason he couldn't quite understand he pulled her down beside him.  
He had always been good at seducing profligate women, a talent he had trained and honed like any other skill, as it was surprisingly easy to get information out of a woman thoroughly sated by sex. He used these skills now to give the girl an hour of utmost sensual pleasure, for the first time in his life without any ulterior motive, and when she had left the bed with a passionate kiss of farewell, he lay awake and wondered why he had done it.

He came to no other conclusion than it had been to do her a favour. To be nice to someone who had been nice to him. The concept of selfless acts and unrequited help to a complete stranger for no other reason than that this was what you did when you encountered someone in need was utterly alien to him, coming from a world where someone in need of help was someone who was weak, worthless and unworthy.

The thought that the Legion would have thought these people fit for nothing but crucifixion or slavery awoke a sudden, unfamiliar anger in him that he had never felt before. A strange kind of frustration he couldn't explain. He had never before disagreed with the purity of the Legion's justice, but with him now having left the world of the Legion, those moral codes and beliefs were no longer applicable nor were they appropriate. He realised something else at that point: That at times, he felt like he was two men, two persons or maybe two minds, that the man who had taken the girl to his bed to give her pleasure without asking for anything in return had been the man called Vincent. He still kept calling himself Vincent, simply because that's what he always did when he was assuming a role, but this... Vincent... was more than a role he played, a mission he was on. He had _been_ Vincent for a significant amount of time, and he still felt like Vincent at times. At those times when he could forget the memories that made him Vulpes Inculta.

He remembered that Vincent had not wished for the memories to return. That he had not wanted to turn back into the man with the dreadful memories and horrible past, and lying in the darkness in the cold and lonely bed now, he couldn't say he was happy his memories had returned although he still felt no different for them at times.

And suddenly, he felt a cold knot in his stomach. Vincent had told Tara that he was only the shell, the shadow of a man and would vanish without a trace as soon as the memories returned. The memories had returned completely, but Vincent was still there. Still a part of him, still more than just a part. But if that was the case... if there really wasn't that much of a difference between Vulpes and Vincent, then who, indeed, was the empty shell of a man if he didn't need the memories of a lifetime to make him who he was?

He sat up and realised that every hair on his body stood on edge. Was that what the Legion had done to him? Captured as a child, being forced to witness his parents' deaths, being torn away from everything and everyone he had ever known, he had had no choice but to believe that he had been saved from dissolution, had been chosen to become a worthy man, had been allowed to join a great community of men greater than he could ever hope to be. They had shorn off his hair, scraped off his first ritual scar for which he had laboured so hard to receive, they had told him over and over again that his people had been weak and worthless but that a better fate awaited if he just tried harder.

And he had tried. Mocked and taunted by the other boys for being tribal born, he had slaved and laboured, had given himself no respite, neither his body nor his mind, his only goal being that he had to proof himself to be a worthy man, better than the weak and worthless parents who had failed him. In the light of what he knew now he suddenly realised he had been deceived, that his parents had fought like deathclaws to protect him, and that the Legion simply had realised that these fierce and merciless warriors were of no use to the Legion as they would never give in to their lead and would make lousy slaves. So they killed them all, bar a handful of children young enough to be reformed and changed, and of whom he had been the only one to survive. But back then, to his childish mind, it had all seemed perfectly and cruelly right.

That was what they had done to him. What they had done to countless others before and after. They had broken him down to precisely nothing and re-shaped him into something in their image. They had taken a boy and killed the man he might have become, had formed him into a perfect follower of Caesar's ideals, and not for one day had he doubted Caesar's strength and his right to conquer and rule, not until the very end when it all had been too late.

And for the first time in his life, Vulpes Inculta realised that while the Legion had given him a place, a position of influence and a rank of honour, that they had given him a future like they had promised, they had at the same time brutally robbed him of a different future already his, taking his past, his beliefs, his very personality along with it. What kind of man might he have become without the Legion's interference? He could hardly remember the man who had fathered him, the memories shadowy pictures frozen in time. He could, however, remember himself, without a second's hesitation risking his life to save two boys from certain death. Would he have saved those boys had he been Vulpes Inculta at that time? He couldn't honestly answer the question, but the answer was probably no. Unless the courier would have ordered him to, but she had been too shocked to say or do anything back then.

Yet was Vincent the man he would have been without the Legion? Likely not. But considering the world he had left behind and the world he was living in now, Vincent just might have been, or was, the better man.

Vincent had had his position too, a rank to earn him respect and honour, despite his past that he couldn't remember, and he had even felt the first, tentative warmth of a bond between him and a woman that, while not forbidden, had certainly not been completely acceptable, but both of them hadn't cared about it. Yes, Vincent had been content with his life, hadn't wanted for the missing memories to return. And here he was now, the very man these memories had summoned back from the dead... wishing for the very same thing.

He spent the rest of the night lost in memories so old he had believed them forgotten, memories he had not thought about in so many years he couldn't even tell how old they were.

The man called Vincent left Olancha again with sunrise and didn't look back, just followed the road south, walking in the efficient, effortless stride of a man well used to travelling long distances on foot. The long, lonely journey ahead of him would give him ample opportunity to think, about himself, about his past, and about his unpleasant discoveries from last night.

He couldn't say it was something he was looking forward to.


	37. Chapter 37

**Three Flags Highway, March 7, 2282**

Vincent had given himself no break, had pushed his body and mind with a cruelty and mercilessness he had never used before. The hills between Olancha and Johannesburg were swarming with coyotes at day and nightstalkers after sunset and making camp with a fire would have meant his certain death. So he pushed himself onward, relentlessly chewing coyote tobacco to keep the drowsiness at bay and only resting an hour or two every now and then, when he found a spot where he could do so in relative safety.

He was crouching in a little hollowed wedge created by a rock protruding from a cliff side so he was shielded by rocks from three sides, a little bit of an overhang above him so nothing would just jump down on him from above. This tiny almost-cave was the safest position he had had in a while and would doubtlessly be the last for some time to come, so he wrapped himself in his blanket – he hadn't taken his bedroll along to save weight and space on the journey – and leaned his head against the rock at his back, facing the opening of his little hideout. His SMG in his lap with his fingers curled around it, he dared to close his eyes. It was dark and he could only hope that no nightstalker picked up his scent, but while resting during the day meant coyotes, it also meant deathclaws and he figured his chances against a few nightstalkers were a little higher than against one of those murderous beasts. The desert night was bitingly cold, but even as Vincent thought he would not be able to sleep under these conditions, his mind drifted off and sank into oblivion from sheer exhaustion.

_His back was on fire and his arms were growing numb. The rough wood of the pole against his cheek was the only other sensation beside the burning fire eating the skin off his back. The whip came down, again and again, until he was sure that his ribs were already laid bare. He watched his hands, tied to the pole with coarse rope, and pulled, tried to free himself before he would be flogged to death. He pulled, and pulled, and suddenly, it wasn't the rope that gave but his own flesh and bones. Without any pain and with a sound like an old rag tearing his wrists came apart and he stood there, his hands still bound to the pole, staring at the stumps of his arms that weren't even bleeding. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound emerged_.

Shooting upright with a hoarse croak, Vincent felt like someone had kicked him. He gasped for air, shaken to the bones, and had to stare at his own hands for a while before he could bring himself to open and close his fingers a few times to assure him they were still attached to his body. He picked up his weapon, dislodged from his lap by the sudden movement, and leaned back again, his heartbeat only slowly calming down. Around him, the night remained still and silent, so his uncontrolled sound hadn't alerted any predator yet. Vincent closed his eyes again, yet even as he thought about packing up and making a few more miles, his mind rendered unto exhaustion again.

_He was swimming in what he knew to be Lake Mead although it didn't look anything like the real Lake Mead nor did the landscape around it resemble reality. He could breathe the water when he dived. He touched the bottom of the lake, felt the fine silt under his fingers, and pushed himself off to surface again. The sunlight was reflected on the water in a thousand glittering sparks and a soft breeze caressed his face. Suddenly, the waves grew bigger. Before him, maybe two hundred yards away, the lake suddenly began to boil and rise, and with a strange, unnatural silence the head of a lake lurk broke through the surface of the water, as large as Fortification Hill. Panic-stricken he dived again, somehow knowing without knowing how he knew that as long as he remained under water, the monster could not harm him. There was nothing to see of the beast underwater, but he could see a shadow when he stared up against the surface from below. Maybe he could swim underwater for the edge of the lake, crawl out and run, because the giant beast would never be able to follow him on dry land. He was just about to turn when behind him, someone touched him. A warm, naked body against his, a pair of arms slung around his waist, a pair of breasts against his back. He turned around and kissed the woman who had embraced him, and she kissed him hungrily back. But when he broke the kiss to look at her she had vanished, and he could breathe the water no more. He had to surface, or he would drown, his lungs were already burning. But if he surfaced, the giant beast would spot him. The burning in his lungs was worse than his fear and he desperately headed for the surface in the hope of being able to take a breath and dive again before the beast saw him. He broke through the surface and gasped for air when the sky darkened above him. He looked up and saw the giant maw of the lurk descend down on him like a gigantic, black and deadly void. _

Vincent awoke with a jerk.

He wasn't easily scared, he usually never let his emotions get the better of him, but in his dreams, dreams he had never had before Hoover Dam, he was powerless against them.

Back on the road south, he kept his senses trained on his surroundings, chewing coyote tobacco to keep alert, but occasionally, his mind drifted off. Back to his dream. Was there any meaning to this? Was there any meaning to the monster in the lake? Or to the woman who had rendered him vulnerable?

With a shrug, Vincent adjusted his pack without breaking the rhythm of his steps and stared straight ahead. The woman who had made him vulnerable. She who had destroyed everything he had ever known and held important. Because of her, he had been thrust out into a world that was alien to him, a world he had hitherto only seen as filled with unworthy dissolute, a world only worth something if conquered and ruled by the likes of him. Because of her, he had had to find a place in that world if he wanted to survive. And survive, he would. He was the only survivor of his tribe, maybe the only survivor of the Legion.

But was it really the Courier who had made him vulnerable? Wasn't it rather wearing another man's skin that had done it?

A sound caught his attention and he turned his head to the left, squinting into the rising sun. But it was only a small lizard having dislodged a pebble, and Vincent headed on, southward through the hills, hoping to reach Johannesburg alive.

His thoughts drifted back to his dream. He had used to think of interpreting dreams as old wives' tales, not worth his time, but this one didn't leave him be. What was the monster trying to eat him? The world he had been cast into? The world he had been cast out of? His thoughts ran in circles as he pondered this when a violently unpleasant thought struck him and he stopped dead in his tracks. What if it was he himself?  
The moment his memories had returned, Vulpes had felt nothing but contempt for the man he had briefly been. A man who had saved a woman stupid enough to walk into a trap. A man who had saved two boys who had been careless enough to play where it was too dangerous. A man who had taken up the position of protector for a woman he knew to have been his enemy.

Vincent had been – or was? – a man who had tried to find a place for himself, tried to adjust, tried to accept he had a dark past without being able to remember it. Vincent had been the man Tara had cautiously approached, kissed, and asked to her bed just for him to be there. So why had he hated him so much, that man, his other self? Jealousy? Vincent had been content, had been respected without inducing fear in everyone he met. He had held Tara in his arms, kissed her, slept beside her, and Vulpes knew that all that would never have happened had either or both of them known who he truly was. And that, he suddenly realised, what was made him vulnerable. He wanted it back.

Despite not being Vincent anymore, or not completely, he wanted all of it back. The position. The honour. The woman. The first woman in his life he had ever truly wanted yet couldn't simply take. A woman he had served as Vincent. Could he serve her as the man he was now? Could Vulpes Inculta truly serve a woman? Even if she was a queen?

With a slow shake of his head, he realised that he already knew the answer and didn't care about it. He wanted to, but wasn't sure if he could. A woman. But a queen. If he could serve any woman at all, then a queen, regardless if she was aware of being a queen or not. Maybe he could make her see. Help her be the queen she was in all but title. He had advised an undisputed ruler, maybe he could help her avoid the mistakes Caesar had made. If she wanted him back at all.

And there it was, at the bottom of it all. Most likely, she wouldn't. Queen or not, the way he had left her would mean nothing but desertion and disrespect. What else could she think than that he didn't care to serve her, or that even if he did, he lacked so direly in respect for her as not to ask her for permission for this task? How could he have been so short-sighted, rash and arrogant not to see this? Expecting her to accept him back with a shrug and a sigh?

His act of injudicious hubris probably had destroyed every chance he ever had of having a position again, a life with meaning, a place of any importance. Just because he had allowed himself to be led by morals he should have put behind him. It was bitter irony that Vincent, a man he had believed inferior, would never have made that mistake. He had respected the Courier as his master and gladly taken up the place as her guard, keeping her safe, and keeping anyone else from treating her with disrespect.

He then remembered the women of Olancha, washing a weary traveller's face and applying ointment to his skin. He remembered the woman in Freeside, the mother whose sons he had saved, kneeling in the dust before him and kissing his hands. No gesture of submission, but a gift, given out of gratitude. He had never in his life seen someone willingly lowering themselves as a gift to someone else, but she had done it without losing her dignity or pride. It was something he found hard to understand. What he could understand, however, was that if he wanted to take back the place he had held, he would have to shed the notion that all women were inferior. He would have to internalize that women had their pride, their honour, and their worth. Not only as mothers but as themselves.

Mothers. The thought struck something else inside him, a bitter, dark feeling he could not identify until he suddenly remembered the woman with the dead infant in Freeside, she whom he had recognised despite his lack of memories.

She had been one of his chosen slave girls, yes. What was her name? Had he even known it? He could see her face, frightened, pale, intimidated, whispering her name. Dina.  
He had never used violence on a woman in his bed. He had never needed to. They had been so afraid of him that they always had done whatever he had asked of them.

Thoroughly distracted by his thoughts Vincent stumbled over a rock and silently cursed as he limped a few steps towards a large boulder beside the road where he sat down to readjust his boot.

Dina. A small, fearful girl, hardly into womanhood when he had taken her the first time, and yet not a virgin any more. He hadn't given this any thought back then, as little as he had given any woman in the camp any thought. And now... He gritted his teeth, and the cold took hold of his soul once more. Now the child that might have been the only son he ever could have hoped for was dead because of the Legion's treatment of slaves and women.

With a slow shake of his head, Vincent took a deep breath and realised he couldn't even go and apologize to her. As much as he might want to change his attitudes, it was of no use to her. His words would sound hollow, worthless and as deriding as Hobson's had sounded to him, and most likely, she would only be left in terror when she learned he was still alive and not a ghost from a past that she desperately was trying to leave behind.

She wasn't alone in that, though. It was at that point that Vulpes realised that he no longer wanted to be the man he was, that if he could cut himself off from his own past, he would do it. If only he could forget his memories again and turn back into Vincent, his life would be so much easier, but life wasn't easy. Had never been easy for him, and never would be. He remembered Tara, her eyes hollow and dead when she realised Vincent was gone, replaced with someone she had reason to hate and fear. He remembered the day she had asked to hold him, and with his eyes staring into empty space and his jaw locked tight, his mind wandered back to that day in the Lucky 38, when she had rested his head in her lap and run her fingers tenderly through his hair. No one had ever touched him like that.  
And no one would, ever again.

He might be able to fight his way back. To make her accept him again. She might forgive him if he proved himself worthy of her once more, because she wasn't Caesar and wouldn't simply kill a man who had crossed her.

Would she? He got up again and with another shrug to adjust his pack, set off again at a brisk pace. He wouldn't dare to assume her thoughts a second time, there was no way of finding out if she could forgive him his fault and take him back apart from facing her. But he didn't give in to any kind of illusion that whatever had been between her and Vincent would be revivable again, whatever he might wish for, whatever kind of attraction he felt for the woman, she could, if anything, only be his queen, no more and no less.

But if she could forgive and accept him, he could at least be at her side and make sure she would come to no harm, even if he himself could never touch her again. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. And nothing was precisely what he had right now.

He stopped again. But why would he need to serve a woman, or serve anyone, for that matter, to make something of his life? Why couldn't he just walk away, find himself a place, and remain a free man without a master?

He stared ahead and pressed his lips together. What could he actually do? He was a fighter, a warrior, an infiltrator and a spy, but what good were these skills to him on his own? What else could he be but a mercenary, and what else would a mercenary need but a master, someone to give him his tasks he would need to survive? What else was there for him? Farmer? Brahmin herder? Prospector? Wandering the Wasteland alone until he ran out of ammunition, luck and the will to exist?

_The individual has no value beyond his utility to the state, whether as an instrument of war, or production._

The Legion. They had turned him into the perfect instrument, a weapon to be unsheathed and wielded at his superior's will, but like any sophisticated instrument or weapon, he was useless and worthless if not wielded by a skilled hand. In what aspect, then, was he different from a slave? Or better, for that matter? The slaves at least could attempt to shed their shackles, take a piece of land, make it their own and live their life satisfactorily. It was not an option open to him. To give his life a meaning, to have something to take pride and honour in, he needed a master he could serve. He had told the Courier something similar. That he knew his place. That he was no leader. That his place was to stand in the light of power, making sure the light wouldn't fade.

He was a servant. A favourite servant, maybe, a high ranking one, but still, a servant. If he wanted his life to have a meaning, he needed a master, but he had failed to see that shortly after turning into Vulpes again because his present master had been a woman. He hadn't taken her completely serious, hadn't felt enough respect for her, had served her out of habit, and first later, on his journey, with time to think about himself and his actions, had come to realise what he had done.

With the tiniest of smiles he reminded himself of a trait he and Vincent had in common: never to shy away from the consequences of their actions. He had no other place to go but her side, no chance at making something of his life, so he continued his journey.

The memories of the bereaved mother with the sad, little bundle in her arms and the feeling of Tara's fingers, combing gently through his hair, kept on haunting him through the emptiness of the wasteland.


	38. Chapter 38

**The Strip, March 9, 2282**

To keep Benny's attentions at bay, Tara had busied herself as much as she could, burying herself in work with Andrew and organising the large feast to celebrate her friend Julie's wedding. It was the morning of the big day that Benny showed up, and Tara let him enter the suite.

He looked around for a few moments after leaving the elevator, then walked to her side, pulled her close affectionately and kissed her temple.  
"Tara, darling", he muttered. "I kinda missed you."  
Smiling up at him, Tara shrugged. "I know I've been a bit... I had a lot to do, you know."  
"Oh I dig", Benny replied. "I mean, you're the Queen of Vegas, aren't you? Bound to be a busy woman."  
Tara smiled again and ran a finger through Benny's hair, careful not to disturb his do. He smiled at her with one eyebrow cocked and Tara managed a pleasant giggle.  
"See, baby doll", Benny went on. "I wondered when you are going to announce our... plans?"  
"After the wedding. You see... I explained this, I don't want to..."  
"Yeah, the girl's thing." Benny looked displeased despite obviously trying to hide it. "How long after?"

"A week."  
"A week? Oh come one, baby..."  
"A week." Tara's voice was firm. "I owe that much to Julie, and I owe it to myself. I want this done properly, because I'll be doing it only once."  
"Benny", she said slowly, running her fingers down the yokes of his jackets. "Are you aware that you might expose yourself to a great danger?"  
"What?"  
"That hasn't occurred to you yet? What will the other Families think when we marry? They'll scream privilege, and they won't be completely wrong. Jealousy, Benny. A lot of people, a lot of men, will be jealous because you took a place they wanted for themselves. I mean... I haven't told you that yet because at that time I didn't make much of it, but Mortimer has sent me flowers, twice in fact, already." It was a blatant lie, but one that would be impossible to rebut, since he most certainly would deny ever having done that even if it were true.  
"What? That freak of a man?"  
Tara shrugged. "I'm sure he's not the only one. So what if... what if someone decides you are taking the place that should be his?"  
"My dear Tara..." Benny brushed her cheek with a finger. "I'm touched you would be so concerned over me. I wouldn't worry. I can handle myself."  
"But what if..." Doe-eyed and summoning all the emotions she could muster, Tara managed to fill her eyes with tears. "What if something happens to you?"  
"I said don't worry", Benny gave back, but seemed touched nonetheless. "Darling..."  
"Oh Benny... what if... Please tell me you don't have any holotapes or something about Vincent. I can't... what if something happens to you and someone finds those? Then I'd not only have lost you, but I'd be... oh god, please tell me you'll protect me!"

Benny's eyes softened and he shook his head with a disbelieving, besotted smile. "Oh Tara baby", he said softly and pulled her close. "Don't you worry, there are no tapes. Not that I count on something happening to me, dig. But there's nothing that could shed a bad light on you. Or me, for that matter, once we're together. I like you too much for that. You dig?"  
Tara had buried her face in his shoulder as he had pulled her close and now looked up, letting her gratitude and relief take her over. Her eyes brimming with tears she blinked and one little drop escaped her lashes and ran down her cheek. With a tender expression, Benny carefully brushed it away.

With a soft sob Tara slung her arms around him and pulled him close, opened her lips to him and kissed him, open-mouthed and greedy. Taken off guard Benny fell back against the wall under her onslaught and chuckled into her kiss as he closed her arms around her.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x **_

The wedding took place under the open sky that evening, on the large public square. An enormous feast had been prepared; there was a large bonfire burning in the centre of the plaza, and towards one side two brahmin and four bighorners were being roasted on spits.

Following Tara's instructions, Andrew had gathered a few people who had taken over the old Sunset Sarsaparilla factory and begun to restore it to working condition. To Tara's surprise the brothers Gus and Harry, two of the former powder gangers, had taken over the lead of that project. As it turned out they were the sons of a brewer back in Reno and had left because they hadn't fancied working with mash and grain for the rest of their lives. Their time as outlaws had made them reconsider, however.  
Under their lead the first attempts at brewing had been undertaken, and with the farm folk now swarming in, the first big barrel of the first batch of New Vegas Maize Brew was rolled in and heaved onto a large table.

The Freesiders had, to show their appreciation for the Followers and the King, build a large dais in the middle of the plaza, and under the canopy of cloth stood two chairs, waiting for the bridal couple.

And so, in a strange mixture of old, pre-war tradition and newly invented custom, the King and Julie got married in front of the bonfire, with Arcade giving the bride away, pacer being the King's best man, Emily being Julie's bridesmaid, and with Tara, Benny, Cachino and Marjorie being the witnesses.  
The two exchanged their oaths and then their rings, and when they turned around to face the happy onlookers, the crowd began to cheer, stomping their feet and chanting the couple's names.

After the two happily grinning newlyweds had taken their place on the dais the feast began in earnest, and the eating and drinking and dancing went on far into the night, until the bonfire had burned down to a heap of glowing embers and the crowd dwindled to the last few of the hardiest drinkers and dancers, sometime in the small hours of the night.

The King and Julie prepared to leave the remnants of the celebrators and Tara embraced Julie once more before she watched them go.

Lost in watching the dying fire she thought about Julie and the King and how happy they had looked, and then she thought about Benny and that she would stand here in a week, taking the same oaths, if she couldn't find a way to dispose of him before then. But who could she trust with a task like this? With Vincent gone and no one...

Her heart skipped a beat and resumed its task with ferocious speed when her eyes fell on a single man standing on the other side of the fire pit, arms crossed and staring into the embers.  
Dylan.  
With her thoughts racing ahead, Tara slowly walked around the last staggering dancers. He looked up upon noticing her.

"Took the evening off?"  
He nodded, and Tara noticed that he didn't seem to be drunk. "Yeah... I'm working my ass off in that place. Not that I mind what with..." He scratched his chin.  
"Vincent told you to keep an eye on Benny."  
"Yeah, and he paid me, too. In advance, like, and he told me I should keep going until he comes back."  
Tara slowly crossed her arms, keeping her face under control. "Did he tell you what his plans are for when he does?"  
"No." Dylan chuckled coarsely. "He didn't tell me anything apart from keeping my eyes on that... on Benny. It was completely up to me how I did it, he said."

Tara slowly turned away and listened to her racing heartbeat. She had not understood why he had so suddenly disappeared after having been allowed to keep his place and even begin to build that secret service he seemed to cherish so much. Vincent had, from the beginning, planned to come back.

But why would he want to come back if he thought so little of her that it hadn't been worth his time conferring with her beforehand? Was he of the opinion that she needed his help to rule? Or did he have his own plans and assumed she wouldn't pick up on them, only being a woman? Swallowing a sudden wave of anger, Tara stared into the embers of the dying fire. Suddenly, she wasn't sure anymore if she wanted him to come back at all, and not sure what she would do if he did.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x **_

**I 15, March 11, 2282**

Somewhere between Barstow and Halloran Springs, on the eleventh day of his journey, Vincent had been attacked by a small group of raiders, a pathetic gaggle of half-starved, unorganized rag-tags mostly armed with spears. One of them, however, had been in possession of an old, shoddy ten millimetre pistol. The two shots he fired before going down had missed, but one of the bullets had hit one of Vincent's two water skins. The full one.

Looking at the burst, empty sack of leather from which the last drops were just falling into the dusty earth he realised that reaching Halloran Springs, a two-day journey away with the water supply of barely enough for half a day, suddenly had become almost impossible. He stared at the corpses surrounding him and with a tight-lipped sigh, holstered his gun, snapped the string of the useless, empty water skin and dropped it.

He shrugged his backpack into place and set off again with a glance at the sun. Giving up was not an option.

Leaving the raiders' corpses behind he followed the I15, keeping his steps in a slow, even rhythm, and tried not to think about water. Reaching Halloran Springs would be as much a battle of nerves and will as physical toughness now. He walked onward, and focussed single-mindedly on setting one foot in front of the other. Stubbornly whittling away at the miles he didn't stop that night before tiredness made his vision swim. He crouched down beside the road, slung his blanket around his shoulders and took a small sip of the precious water while staring at the star-dusted sky above him.

He rested a few hours until it felt like his legs would carry him again and walked on, ignoring his dry mouth and focussing only on walking. After a few more hours, however, he began to occasionally feel a spell of mild dizziness and realised he was rapidly dehydrating. He took another cautious sip of his water, but it did little to ease his discomfort.

The sun rose a little later, bringing back the same merciless heat to the desert as the day before. Vincent looked ahead at the road about a yard in front of his feet. The sun burned down on him in indifference to his fate, but by now he wasn't even able to curse it. It seemed to him, as he fought for his life there on the I15, that his whole life, the whole brutal training he had undergone in all the years in the Legion, all the suffering, the pain, the austereness, had led him to this one day. His body had been forged into shape on the anvil of duty with a hammer of pain, until no softness or weakness had remained, and all that, everything he had gone through, had led him here to this day where this was the only thing that would make him survive.

It got harder though, with every passing hour, to put one foot in front of the other; and he knew that if he sat down to rest now, he would never rise again. So he forced himself onward, step by step, skin itching and eyes burning. Every now and then he allowed himself a sip from his water skin, but the water seemed to vanish in his dry mouth and never to even reach his stomach. The headaches got worse, and he realised it was a miracle he hadn't been eaten by geckos yet.  
A bloatfly might have been able to overcome him in his current state.

The only thing that showed him that he was, in fact, still moving, was his shadow that appeared in front of him at one point, indicating that the sun had wandered past zenith. He followed his growing shadow until it disappeared in the fading light of dusk when he squeezed the last drops from his water skin, stale, warm and tasting of leather. Despite the cold desert night he felt hot, he had stopped sweating sometime in the afternoon and knew that he was only hours away from death. His head throbbed, his vision swam, his limbs tingled, and still he forced one foot in front of the other. If he stopped now, he wouldn't be able to walk again. One step. One more. Through the haze of lethargy clouding his mind he realised he was going slower and slower, but he couldn't force himself to move any faster.

And still, there was that little bit in him, that part that had kept him alive through the Legion training, through campaigning and battles, through arrest and flogging, through the torture on the battlefield at Hoover Dam. That bit, that piece of rock-hard will to survive that had made him crawl for water long after he had given up hope, so he had come to reach Freeside. That same bit of will now forced his feet forward through the night long after his conscious mind had stopped giving those feet any orders.

He stumbled with every other step, lost his balance more than once, and finally, with the grey light of daybreak, he couldn't get up anymore. Still he dragged himself onward, bit by bit, torturous inch by torturous inch, the glare of the rising sun burning his weary eyes.

And then he heard the bark.

Squinting into the sunlight he saw a big, hairy dog charge towards him, but even as he tried to get onto his feet again his arms gave way under him and he collapsed. His cheek hit the hard and dirty tarmac and he listened to the barking getting louder, coming nearer. He briefly thought about reaching for his gun to try and defend himself, but his hand didn't obey him. The barking stopped, and he heard a sniffing sound come closer.

Something cold and soft touched his cheek.

"Kimba! Kimba!"  
A bark answered the call.  
"What's that? Huh? What did ya find?" A pause. "Shit! Get away! Get away from him, you hairy beast! FRANK!"  
Dimly, Vincent could hear steps. Someone knelt beside him, took him by the shoulder. "Shit."  
"He gone already?" Another voice.  
"Not quite. Lips shrivelled, but the tongue ain't black yet. Might make it. Take his pack off."

Even if he had wanted to, Vincent couldn't have resisted the man pulling the pack off him; as it was, he was just trying to make sense of it all. Someone took him by the shoulder again, hauled him upright, took his arm, and with a dizzying sensation of a lurching world, Vincent was hoisted bodily onto someone's shoulders.

"Run!", the man who was carrying him said. "Tell him we found someone. Get Jenny and the others!"  
"Got ya."

Vincent passed out when he tried to lift his head to see where they were going, but his consciousness returned when he was set down again. He felt a hand cradle his head and lift it, and felt a cool and moist rag wiping over his face and lips. He opened his eyes and saw a woman, watching him in concern.

"You're one lucky bastard, you know that?"  
He tried to answer, but failed. His tongue didn't obey him.  
"If Ian hadn't gone out to hunt with his dog just now and just that way, you'd have been dead within a few hours." She put the rag aside and held a cup to his lips, carefully dribbling water into his mouth. Vincent licked at those drops in greed but immediately saw the wisdom in her caution: his throat was so dry he could hardly swallow. A larger sip of water might have suffocated him.  
"Easy now", the woman said. "Not so fast. If you drink too fast, you'll puke, and then we'll have an even harder time pulling you through. What on earth were you thinking travelling along the I15 with no more water than that?"  
Vincent swallowed a few more drops after she offered him the cup again. She gave him a larger sip next time but still a tiny amount of water only, but she repeated that a few times.

With his tongue no longer sticking to the roof of his mouth Vincent tried to speak, but his voice was still no more than a hoarse croak. "I had... more. Was attacked... by... raiders. Where... where am I?"  
"Halloran Springs", said a familiar male voice beside him and Vincent turned his head towards the man who had rescued him, looking at a face covered in the fiercest black and bushy beard his eyes had ever beheld. A piercing pair of strikingly blue eyes looked back at him from a web of smile wrinkles as he grinned at Vincent through the thicket of hair. "Welcome to the Flower of the Desert, lad."


	39. Chapter 39

**The Strip, March 15, 2282**

Tara knew she was running out of time when Benny showed up in the Lounge that day.

"Baby doll..."  
"Say no more", Tara said in a low voice. "I know. We've waited long enough."  
He smiled, a little relieved, and still, a little annoyed. She might have pushed things a little too far.  
"I will send messengers to Outer Vegas and Freeside and the Strip today. We have a public meeting on the plaza tonight, and there we shall announce our betrothal."  
"And how long are you..."  
"Only as long as it takes to prepare the feast", Tara fell in, closing her hands around Benny's upper arms. "Shouldn't be more than a few days."  
"Oh well... that's a blip. We're going to have such a ball... oh..." He grinned sheepishly, and was just about to say something else when Tara leaned forward and kissed him.  
"Don't worry", she whispered. "I kinda... it has its certain charms." She giggled. "Dig?"

Benny lifted his eyebrows, and his sheepish grin swelled into a broad grin of such delight that for a second, Tara could almost have felt the tiniest bit sorry for him. She let him kiss her and ran her hands through his hair, thinking of the day when she would put Vincent's words concerning the little knife he had left her to the test.

**The Mojave, March 15, 2282 **

Vincent had given himself no more than two days rest in Halloran Springs, even if Ian and Jenny, his rescuers and hosts, had told him that they would have saved his sorry arse for nothing if he went like that before he was fully recovered. Vincent had thanked them and assured them he was well enough to travel and since they had no intention to tie him down, they had let him go with worried frowns.

In fact, Vincent felt very much recovered after one and a half days in bed, and with an inner restlessness that had taken hold of him during that time urging him on, he continued his way as fast as he could and dared. Maybe it was because he was so close to his goal now, but something told him that he'd better hurry. Something told him he had been away for just about too long now, and he made his way up through the hills towards the Mojave Outpost with that restlessness growing stronger and stronger.

When he had finally reached the abandoned Outpost, a small ghost settlement now with doors creaking in the wind and dust collecting in the corners of the open buildings, he paused, looked at the two giant statues with a frown and walked past them to once more let his eyes sweep over the Mojave.

In the distance he could make out Nipton, and he felt a strange, cold heaviness in his stomach upon remembering the recent history of the place. True, Nipton had been a rat's nest filled with powder gangers, escaped convicts and other scum. Maybe they had deserved their fate. He just wasn't sure about it anymore, and remembering it now, he could hear the voice of the woman who had stumbled into Nipton, her face pale, her eyes wide, her hair dishevelled.

"_Your crimes are unforgivable."_

Vincent took a deep breath and, for a moment, wished he had never set foot into that town, before he shook his head to dislodge that irritating feeling. He shrugged his pack into place again and turned his gaze northward, past Primm. The I15, past the now cleared out quarry, was traversable again; so he wouldn't have to waste time upon taking the long route on the Highway 95. He set off with a shrug and left the rusting statues of the rangers behind on their windswept hilltop.

He passed Primm without giving it another look, headed up the road past a derelict NCR camp, past a few rusting mobile homes and the remnants of an old airport. Sloan wasn't more than a ghost town either, the only living inhabitants a few flies, lizards and a single, forlorn tumbleweed wedged in between two sheds. He watched it tremble in the wind, caught between the metal walls, and walked over with two steps to give it a kick. It came free of its prison and instantly picked up speed with the breeze, and with a shake of his head at his own folly, Vincent watched it disappear southward, down the I15.

After passing the quarry and in the light of the setting sun, the flats of the Mojave desert lay before him once more , a few houses and barns, the walls of McCarran, and behind it, finally, the high buildings of the casinos on the Strip, amidst them the sleek and slender tower of the Lucky 38. Just then, the lights on the Strip came to life against the encroaching dark as he stared north, and he watched the Lucky 38 light up from bottom to top until it sparkled proudly in the dead and hostile desert, shining like a beacon. He kept staring at it for a long while longer, recalling the view from the windows of the cocktail lounge.

Feeling strangely cold inside, Vincent set off again, passing the city to the west and reaching the northern gate of Freeside shortly after dark. The gates were wide open, and he saw a few people enter the city in haste, as if they were afraid of missing something, and he followed them silently and in a respectful distance.

**Freeside, March 15, 2282**

It was just after nightfall when the crowd of people, farm folk, Freesiders, Westsiders, and inhabitants of the Strip, gathered on the large plaza where, once more, a large bonfire was burning.  
The dais at their back, Benny and Tara were standing in the midst of the crowd that was only slowly calming down; the air was still filled with murmurs, whispers, and excited shuffling.

Tara was just about to lift her hands and ask for silence, when at the back of the crowd, the murmur of the people rose into an angry susurrus of protest.

_**x-x-x-x-x-x **_

Vincent cautiously entered Freeside, passed the Fort, with its gates wide open as well, to see a large crowd of people gathered on the cleared space opposite the Fort. He slowly walked closer, watching the people, listening to the fleeting conversations he could pick out from which he concluded they were excited about something, expecting something, and that it had to do with the Courier. He had reached the edge of the crowd and realised they were gathered around some sort of wooden dais, but that dais was currently empty. Craning his neck he noticed that there was a cleared space in front of it where two people were standing, a man in a chequered suit and a woman wearing strange but elegant leather garments. His heart went cold in the instant he recognised her; and with the realisation of that disrespectful, deceiving, murdering leader of the Chairmen standing side by side with Tara he began to push himself through the crowd. Someone looked up, another muttered something about impoliteness, when suddenly, a woman screamed: "The Legionary!"

The noise rose in volume and the crowd parted around him like oil on water hit by a drop of soap. Within moments Vincent was standing alone in an empty space; the two people in front of the dais staring towards him, Benny with a wide-eyed expression of utter shock and Tara with an absolutely blank face. She turned fully around to face him, her arms crossed, and Vincent couldn't help but marvel at how grand she looked in those garments, the heavy golden skirt looking like liquid amber in the firelight.

He slung his pack from one shoulder and was just about to address her when she forestalled him.

"So. You finally return." Before he could answer, she went on. "Guards! Seize this man!"  
Vincent dropped his pack and remained still, not resisting the grip of the two securitrons that came wheeling to his side and now took hold of his arms.  
A few of the King's men hurried over as well, weapons drawn, and Tara took a deep breath. "Disarm him."

Vincent still didn't resist but kept looking at Tara, and Tara held that silent gaze with a strength he had never seen in her before. A small consolation, but a consolation nonetheless. If he had to die now, he could at least die with the knowledge of her having taken what was rightfully hers, having become what she should have been all along.

The Kings patted him down, went into every pocked, and found his weapons one by one, the silenced pistol, the garrotte, a few knives hidden in various folds and pockets, and the small knife in his boot.

"Don't touch the blade", Vincent advised the young man examining it, because the latter had unsheathed the blade a bit.  
"Or else?", the would-be cop snapped at him. "Should I be afraid of you, you..."  
"It's poisoned", Tara interrupted him in a harsh, icy voice, and with a suddenly pale face and a subdued expression, the boy sheathed the knife again and dropped it onto the small heap beside him. "Bring him here."

After handcuffing him, the two cops dragged Vincent forward, and with their weapons still drawn, stood a step behind him, to the left and right, watching him just as intently as Tara did.

"So", she finally said. "What is the meaning of this? Where have you been?"  
"Shady Sands."  
"Shady Sands?" Tara tapped her left forearm with a finger of her right hand. "In the heart of the NCR?"  
"Yes."  
"And why? If it's not too bold to ask."  
Ignoring the sarcasm, Vincent replied without avoiding her eyes. "To take care of the man behind the attempted assassination of the Courier."

A murmur went through the crowd, but as soon as Tara uncrossed her arms and lifted a hand, the people fell silent again.

"Do you have any proof?"  
"A holotape with a recording. I found the man and he talked, convinced he would be able to kill me."  
"A holotape." Tara took a slow breath. "Well, let's hear it."  
"It is in my pack."

One of the Kings went for the pack after receiving a nod from Tara and began to rummage around in it. He found the Pip Boy and the holotape at the very bottom, handing both things to Tara.

"Hold it", Tara said, looking at the device. "Where did you get that?"  
Her gaze was piercing, fiery, and Vincent was beginning to realise he might have gotten himself into more trouble than he had imagined when he had left all those weeks ago.  
"From the King's safe."  
"What?" That was the King, who hurried over, outraged and agitated. "How could you..."  
"I broke into your bedroom and picked the safe", Vincent said with more calmness than he felt.  
"Well you..."  
Tara lifted a hand. "We'll deal with that one later." With that, she slipped the holotape into her own Pip Boy, turned the volume up to maximum and pressed the play button.

"_Come in. So. Colonel McTavish, head of the NCR Military Police. I guess we need to discuss a thing or two, Mr...?"_  
"_My name is Vincent."_  
"_Vincent...?"_  
"_Just Vincent, sir."_  
"_You're god damn fucking resourceful for a petty wastelander."_  
"_You may have guessed that I am more than a simple wastelander, sir."_  
"_Huh. Damn right I have. Well. I'm not one to waste time in running off at the mouth. I want that package, and I want it asap. Who are you working for and what's your price?"_  
"_I am working for no one. I have my own plans and work for my own ends, and your... plans for the Courier collide with my personal interests. I kindly have to request to drop any plans of revenge and leave New Vegas and the Mojave alone."_  
"_I'm afraid I'm disinclined to do so, mister. But I might be able to offer you something else. Every man has his price. Name yours."_  
"_Leave the Courier alone."_  
"_I can't imagine you got this far without being clever enough to realise you ain't getting out of here alive if you don't do as I say. I tried friendly, you know, even if I don't like friendly very much. I have ways of making you talk. Don't make me use them."_  
"_If your goal was to intimidate me, then I have to inform you that you failed. I still have the disc, and a testimony from Mr... Marshall."_  
"_Never heard that name."_  
"_If I fail to return, these documents will be sent to the Shady Sands Telegraph and to several important persons."_  
"_And what makes you think I can't send someone there to confiscate that document before it even gets opened? Apart from that, if you're here, telling me to keep my hands from that fucking bitch of a courier, that means she's still alive, so what the fuck should there be on those discs that could pose any threat to me? I didn't get to be where I am today if I didn't know how to deal with someone who's trying to shed a bad light on me. I know how to shift odds in my favour, mister, and I know how to dispose of obstacles. You are an obstacle, and whether you're working for the courier or the fucking ghost of Caesar himself doesn't make one fucking bit of a difference. You're a dead man walking, and the courier will get what she deserves. Kimball and Oliver may be so blind as not to see her as a threat, but I won't let them walk into that trap like so many blind mice. Send your precious discs wherever the fuck you like. I'll dispatch someone tomorrow to take care of that bitch of Vegas and neither you nor Kimball or Oliver can do anything to stop it. Once she's gone, I can take care of the consequences, and it doesn't matter much what happens to me after that. She needs taking down if the NCR is ever to find back to her old strength again. I'm through with you, and I'm through with the courier. Time to make your peace, mister."_

The recording ended with a soft 'plop' that Tara identified as the sound of a silenced pistol. She switched the Pip Boy off and looked at Vincent again.


	40. Chapter 40

"Well", she said, her voice calm, yet Vincent could hear the suppressed anger under the surface. "So there really was more to that bunch or rapists. So it really was an attempted assassination. What gave you the idea?"  
"It seemed too... far-fetched, someone having people raped and killed and record those deeds. Especially with requesting a performance of the Courier."  
"Instincts?"  
"Possibly."  
"Whatever it was, you were proven right, in the end. So in fact, you have done me a great service with disposing of this man. We might have a chance of a peaceful relationship with the NCR after all, thanks to you. There remains... a slight problem, however."  
Since he knew what was to come, Vincent just straightened his back and waited.

Tara, in turn, stared past him for a few very long moments.

"Why?", she finally said, looking straight into his eye. "Why did you have to go like that?"  
Vincent thought about how to phrase his answer, but Tara went on as if she didn't really mean for him to speak. "You disappeared, doing a moonlight flit on me, leaving me unprotected without a proper bodyguard. On top of that, you went and stole government property." She pointed at the Pip Boy. "Why? I would have given you permission had you but asked! I would have given you equipment, the Pip Boy and my blessings, had you but asked! Why?"  
Vincent felt her glare burn holes into the core of his soul. "I assumed there was a risk you would not let me go."  
"You assumed that. Without ever consulting me about the matter."  
"I realise that..."  
"Do you know what you should realise?", Tara interrupted him. "Do you have the faintest idea what kind of situation I had to deal with, caused by your disappearance?"

Before Vincent could reply, she went on, and with every word she spoke, he felt his heart go colder. "I did my best to keep the rumours down, but you know, your fucking off on me like that was grist for their mills! They purported you were a Legion spy. That you were only here as the eyes and ears of Caesar."  
"But the Legion..."  
"The Legion is dead? That's my own failure, I guess. I should have brought them Caesar's head on a fucking pike, but I had everyone buried. No corpses, no proof. And me? I was supposed to be in lieu with the Legion, and with you disappearing like that... well, you went, of course, to tell Caesar that the city was his! And all with my knowledge, of course. Because you and me... we used to work for the Legion."  
Vincent was rendered speechless for a moment; but a cold, nasty suspicion rose in him and casting Benny a look he noticed the other man staring back with unmasked hate. When Vincent looked at Tara again, he could see a similar fire burn in her eyes. "I realise that..."  
"You don't realise anything", Tara interrupted him again. "I could have lost everything I had, including my life, and all because you didn't think it worth your time asking my permission!"

A heavy silence followed her words in which Vincent could feel the eyes of the crowd on his back like a swarm of angry cazadores, just biding their time. He moistened his lips with a flick of his tongue and took a deep breath. "I... if I had had any premonition of this then I would have made a different choice."  
"Elegant choice of words. I thought you were working for me. Why were you so convinced I needn't be asked?"  
"I might have misjudged you..."  
"No." Tara crossed her arms again after brushing a stray strand of hair behind an ear. "You have misjudged yourself."

They silently stared at each other until Vincent realised what he was doing. Tara was on the verge of fury, and he wasn't making things any better. So he first lowered his eyes, then his head, and staring at his own feet, spoke in a more subdued voice. "I made a grave mistake in disregarding you. I made my decision in too much haste and came to realise this too late. I..." He swallowed. "I would ask your forgiveness."

Tara didn't reply for a very long time, and he kept staring at the ground. When she finally spoke again, she sounded less furious but a lot more tired.

"To what end?"  
He looked slowly up at her again, but Tara's face betrayed nothing.  
"To what end should I forgive you? What would you want with my forgiveness?"  
"I would serve you again", he replied, realising to his dismay that his voice did not sound as strong as he would have liked.  
"I have no use for servants who assume to know my will. Who assume my orders and then explicitly act directly against those assumed orders. Now, I know you are a potential asset. I know you have lots of invaluable skills. And I know you have done me a great service with eliminating that officer in Shady Sands. It can't have been easy, especially not the long journey alone through the desert. But you have forfeited my trust."  
"It will not happen again."  
"You told me once that you wouldn't make the same mistake as Caesar, underestimating me on account of my gender. And yet you go and do exactly that. Maybe not because of my gender, but you very obviously thought to know better than I."  
Vincent dropped his head again, choosing not to reply.

"Tell me. How would the Legion have handled this kind of situation?"  
His head flew up and he stared at Tara. She was watching him with an expression resembling mild interest.  
"The culprit was usually killed."  
"Usually?"  
Vincent cleared his throat. "In rare cases he would be severely punished and given a chance to redeem himself."  
"Rare cases?"  
"When his superior saw something worth preserving in the man."  
"Ah." She took a deep breath. "What kind of punishment?"  
Vincent dared to meet her eyes again. She looked back indifferently, but in her eyes, he could still see the anger glow. "Flogging."

She had seen the scars on his back, and both of them knew that she had. She had never asked, and he had never told her. But he could see it in her eyes that now she understood.

Tara stared at him for another long moment before she turned her head. "Dylan?"  
The young man Vincent had found so promising stepped free of the crowd and cautiously approached her. "Yes?"  
After waving him over, Tara exchanged a few whispered sentences with him upon which he nodded and vanished into the crowd again.

"You told me, a long time ago...", Tara said to Vincent in a low voice,"...that I should show you your place, should you make a fool of yourself. The trouble is, this was not mere foolishness. You endangered my life and that of New Vegas, and no amount of verbal reprehension is going to make up for it."  
"I shall accept any punishment you choose", Vincent slowly replied and lowered his eyes again.  
"It is not for you to accept or decline", Tara gave back and waved two of the Kings over without taking her eyes off Vincent. "So. You abandoned your post, you left me unprotected, and you stole government property. You exposed me to dangerous rumours that have almost cost me my position and everything we have toiled for. What would you see fit?"

At that moment, Dylan returned with a rolled up bull whip he had borrowed from one of the brahmin farmers.  
"Whatever you see fit."  
"Tie him to one of the brahmin posts", Tara said to no one in particular after a moment. "And give him twenty lashes."  
There was a sudden movement at the edge of the crowd. "What?" Arcade stepped forward and agitatedly pushed his glasses up his nose. "Tara, you can't do that! You're sentencing him to death! I mean... twenty lashes can kill a man!"  
"You mean to tell me you know better than I what is fit for him?"  
"I... Tara... you can't..."  
"Silence."

Before Arcade could say anymore Julie had taken his arm, and firmly and slowly shaking her head, she pulled him back into the crowd again.

Tara looked at the two Kings again, making them rally themselves to take Vincent by the elbows and march him over to the public well and the posts that were commonly used to tether cattle. They used the handcuffs to shackle him to the post after allowing him to take off his armour and shirt by himself.

Dylan stepped behind him with slow and measured steps. "Got anything to say?"  
Vincent straightened up. "Only that you'll do neither me nor yourself a favour if you try to spare me."

Watching Vincent being tied to the pole Tara suddenly noticed that Benny was gone, but she would have to deal with him later, if he hadn't simply fucked off on her to save his sorry ass.

Squaring her shoulders she looked at the man whose rash actions had brought her into that predicament in the first place. He wasn't looking anywhere but at his own wrists, looking calm considering what was about to happen to him, and he had accepted his sentence as if he knew as well as she did that things couldn't simply go back to normal after what had happened. Tara steeled herself, forcing herself to watch as Dylan lifted his arm in a wide swing.

As he pressed his forehead to the pole, Vincent had to admit he had never expected anything like this. He had, to an extent, expected that he might be punished, but hadn't thought her _capable_ of doing more to him than imprison him. At least this would be over much faster than imprisonment, but it would be a lot harder to go through. And as he braced himself for the first strike, he realised with a certain coldness in his heart that being sentenced to flogging was one thing, being sentenced to flogging and _knowing exactly_ what awaited him was something completely different. And when the whip hit the skin of his back with a crack, he realised something else: a disciplinary punishment by a trained legion officer who was using a whip made for the purpose was painful in the extreme, but a bull whip did considerably more damage. He felt his skin burst with the very first lash and had a hard time keeping his mouth shut.

Three lashes later, sweat was dripping down his cheeks and temples and he was biting on his lip to keep himself from crying out. He could hear Dylan breathe hard behind him as he brought the whip down and the pain of the impact forced a hoarse grunt from Vincent's lips. He could feel blood trickling down his flanks.

The sixth lash had him groan despite all his efforts to keep his silence. His back already felt as if awash with boiling acid, a fiery pain so sharp-edged it cut right through the core of his soul. He felt his stomach lurch, had he eaten anything that day he would have had to fight the urge to throw up as well. He realised he lacked the strength to stand this in silence as he had done during the first flogging of his life, but then, it was only two days ago that he had crawled into Halloran Springs more dead than alive.

Two more lashes and his knees were trembling and threatening to give way under him; already the cuffs that shackled him to the pole were cutting into his wrists. His breathing was hard and ragged, he could not suppress a hoarse, choked gasp of pain with the next lash as the pain made his vision swim and become red and fuzzy around the edges. He lost count with the next hit, but someone suddenly cried out.

"Tara! Have mercy!"  
Vincent needed all the strength he had left to lift his head to see a shaken Arcade, once more having broken free of the crowd of onlookers, standing in the open space. "Tara! Please! You can't honestly mean to flog him to death!"  
"Mercy?"  
Vincent suddenly realised that at one point, Tara must have walked across the plaza and now stood facing him, her arms crossed, her face unreadable. Her hair was shifting in the breeze, her face illuminated by the firelight cast in flickering shadows, and she stood straight-backed and with her chin thrust out, every inch the born ruler he had known her to be from the start.

"If he wanted mercy, wouldn't he have asked for it?"  
"You know as well as I do that the Legion never knew any mercy", Arcade gave back, his voice unsteady. "It was probably one of their bad words. Please, Tara... you can't just kill him like this!"  
Tara shifted her gaze to Vincent, and as their eyes met, he thought there was a flicker in her eyes, saw her lips narrow, her jaw muscles twitch, but it could just as well have been a trick of the restless firelight. But he knew without doubt that if he asked for mercy now, she would grant it.

She had seen the necessity of punishing him, but did not relish it in any way. And Vincent knew that in his current state, after the ordeal he had gone through during the last weeks, the full punishment would indeed likely kill him, and he would die at her orders.  
She was waiting for him to cry for mercy, but not for his sake. For her own.

And Vincent took a deep, rasping breath and sounded the death knell for what had remained in him of the man he had been before Hoover Dam.  
"Mercy...!"  
Tara's hand shot up. "Stop."  
With a deep and audible breath of relief, Dylan lowered the whip and stood back.

"You don't honestly mean to show him mercy?" a voice from the crowd suddenly cried out. "The Legion's never shown mercy to anyone!"  
"Maybe." Tara couldn't identify the speaker, but she didn't have to. "But this is not the Legion, and I'm not Caesar. Untie him."

One of the King's men hesitatingly walked up to Vincent to unlock the handcuffs that bound him. He fought for balance for a moment; summoning all the strength of will he had left to force himself upright, and with slow, unsteady steps he walked across the plaza. When he reached Tara she slowly uncrossed her arms and looked at him with her chin still thrust out, displaying only strength and authority. With an arduous and painful movement, Vincent lowered himself down onto his knees before her and bowed his head, his arms trembling at his sides, sweat dripping down his temples and blood trickling down his raw and mangled back.

Around them, the people had fallen silent, and no one moved. In that unnatural silence, Vincent's hoarse and rasping voice was audible towards the last rows of people.

"Courier Tara", he said without looking up. "Will you forgive my mistakes and accept me as your loyal servant?"  
"After what I just put you through?" Her voice was firm, and not ungentle.  
Now Vincent looked up at her. "I know my fault. And I deserved every single one of those lashes."

In the silence that followed he did not avoid her probing eyes, and after a deep breath, Tara finally nodded.

"Very well. You are forgiven. I accept you back into my service." She held out her hand to him to help him up. He realised this, and he also realised something else: that in his absence, she had become what he had wanted her to be. So instead of taking it, he leaned over her hand and brushed her fingers with his lips.  
"Thank you", he said then and looked up at her again. "My queen."

Squaring her shoulders, Tara took another deep breath and nodded again, her face a calm mask but her eyes glowing in the firelight. "Rise."  
Vincent forced himself to his feet, not taking his eye off hers.

"You shall have your place back", Tara said firmly. "And you may take back your given name."  
Vincent smiled, a strange, narrow smile that Tara couldn't identify. Then he inclined his head and straightened up again. "You have my thanks." He took another breath to steady his voice. "My name... is Vincent."  
"Vincent?" Tara could not suppress a trace of surprise in her voice. "But...?"  
Vincent, however, smiled at her under a lowered eyelid. "It is the name you gave me", he said, his voice low but firm, if still a little hoarse. "And I shall bear it with pride."  
Tara swallowed visibly, and her shoulders heaved with the heavy breath she took. She nodded again. "Very well. Do you know your place?"  
"I do."  
"Resume it."  
"Yes", Vincent replied with another bow of his head. He was just about to take up his place behind her again when she laid a hand on his arm.  
"After you have had your back seen to", Tara said, her voice much gentler. "Go with Arcade."

He bowed his head again and turned to find Arcade stand behind him. The doctor's face was pale, but with a deep breath, he took Vincent's arm and led him to the Fort and into one of the surgeries.

"Care to tell me what the hell that was?", Arcade asked, his voice still trembling, as he looked at Vincent's mutilated back.  
"Absolutely necessary."  
"Wh..." Arcade swallowed a reply and, shaking his head, carefully applied disinfectant to the raw flesh on display before him. He was just about to finish the painful process that Vincent endured without so much as a hiss when the door opened and Dylan poked his head in, his face still grey despite his normally dark skin.  
"Can't you knock?", Arcade snapped.  
"Come in", Vincent said.  
Dylan closed the door behind him and went into a crouch in front of Vincent, ignoring Arcade's indignant huff.

"You did well", Vincent said. "You didn't lose your nerve."  
"I know. But, man..."  
"Don't worry. I won't hold anything against you."  
With his jaw locked tight, Dylan looked up at him and nodded. "I did as you told me. Have to let you know though... there's going to be trouble about him."  
"I didn't expect anything else."  
Dylan got up again with a nod. "Want me to continue?"  
"Yes."  
With another nod, Dylan vanished, ignoring Arcade's bedevilled stare. The doctor then shifted his focus to the man sitting before him and cleared his throat. "Care to tell me..."  
"No. My apologies, but it is not your business."  
"Okay, okay." Arcade shook his head again and reached for a bandage. "Lift your arms please, but slowly."

After having wrapped Vincent's torso in a bandage to protect the healing skin he had cautiously treated with stimpacks, Arcade and his patient made their way back to the plaza where folk stood everywhere in smaller or larger groups, gossiping heatedly and busily about the events of the day. Vincent retrieved his shirt, shrugged his armour back on despite his aching and tender back, and after putting on his pack, went to look for his weapons. The two Kings guarding those handed them back slightly reluctantly; and after having armed himself again, Vincent found Tara stand behind him, a small smile on her face that didn't reach her eyes. She gave him a nod that he returned, and when she left the plaza he followed her back to the Lucky 38.


	41. Chapter 41

After having dropped his pack and the upper part of his armour off in his room, Vincent had excused himself for the bathroom; and after having washed the grime and dust from travelling off his skin and getting rid of the stubble on his face he felt much restored, but far too agitated to sleep. Tara had withdrawn to her bedroom; and since he did not want to disturb her, he left the suite silently, taking the elevator up to the cocktail lounge.

He stared out of a window, deep in thought and looking at the faraway hills. Against all expectations and despite all obstacles, he had made it. He allowed himself another small moment of triumph.

And although he had not expected a punishment anywhere close to what he had received, he felt better for it, for it enabled both of them to attempt and put the past behind them. Not enough, of course, to go back to where they had been before his memories had torn him away from her, but enough to have a respectful, maybe even amicable relationship. He would have gone through worse to have her trust him again.  
Now at least he could protect her; and protect her he would, until the last drop of his blood, his last dying breath. He would keep her safe, making sure no one ever touched her against her will.  
And if at one point she would chose herself a man... well, he would go through that ordeal like he had through countless others before. It was not his place.

When he heard the elevator doors he turned around to see the queen of Vegas emerge, dressed in a shirt and cargo pants but barefoot, seemingly surprised upon noticing him. She walked up to him with a cautious smile.

"You couldn't sleep either?"  
"No."  
She stood beside him and crossed her arms, looking out of the window. He followed her gaze, and they stood in a long moment of silence.  
"Vincent", Tara finally said, sounding hesitating.  
"There is no need for apologies", he gave back. "I meant it when I said I deserved every one of those lashes."  
Tara didn't reply at once, and when she did, her voice was even lower. "I thought I'd kill you."  
"You could have."  
"But you asked for mercy."  
"I did."  
"I hadn't thought you ever would."

He didn't reply to that and kept on staring out of the window.

"You did it for my sake, didn't you."  
"Yes."  
"Why?"  
"You wanted me to."  
"And your pride?"

He snorted softly under his breath. "Things like my pride or my personal preferences are irrelevant in the light of your will, something you did well in reminding me of. My pride had become worthless anyway, the moment you told me what I had done to you, with the rumours my vanishing had created."  
"I... you have to know." Tara swallowed. "It wasn't completely true."  
Vincent slowly turned his head to look at her, but his face betrayed nothing.  
"It was no public rumour, not yet, anyway. It was a story Benny dished out to me to blackmail me into sharing power with him. He threatened me with making it public if I refused. And when you came back today, I was just about to announce our betrothal... and I thought with those words, I could take the wind out of his sails."  
"Benny. I should have known." Vincent gritted his teeth. "He wanted the chip."  
"And me."  
Vincent exhaled softly through his nose and swallowed. "Did he touch you?" All of a sudden his voice was dangerously low.  
"No." Tara took another breath. "He kissed me, and to gain his trust, I encouraged him. But he didn't touch any other part of my skin than my hands or my cheeks."  
With a nod, Vincent looked out of the window again. "We won't have seen or heard the last of him."  
"Sure as fuck not."  
Vincent cast her a sideways look. "Vulgarities don't become you."  
Tara felt the unfamiliar heat of a blush creep into her cheeks. "Uh... anyway. I have to think of a way to deal with him. Threatening me with that rumour won't work anymore, but I don't expect him to give up."  
"Neither do I. Rest assured, though, that he won't lay his hands on you again."  
"I hope so. If I'd never see him again it would still be too soon."

They continued their quiet vigil, staring at the distant mountains, before Vincent broke the silence again. "If I had known how I had exposed you to that man's... intentions... and how they turned out, I'd have chosen the full punishment."  
"But you didn't. And he didn't harm me, apart from making me throw up with disgust after I... uh... never mind."  
Vincent turned his head very slowly to see Tara hug herself tightly while staring out, her teeth gritted and her eyes closed. "What..." To his own annoyance, his voice was a little hoarse and betrayed far too much emotion, so he stared out of the window again as he spoke. "What did he do to you?"  
"Nothing. It's what I did to him. I needed to gain his trust and I..." She opened her eyes again. "I gave him a blowjob."  
Despite himself, Vincent spun around and dropped his arms to stare at her, trying to gain control of an unfamiliar heat inside him, made of fury and something else. He stared at Tara with clenched fists. "What?"  
Tara spun around to face him, too, and for a long moment they both stared at each other, breathing hard and fast.

"Look", Tara said. "I needed to gain his trust, okay? So I took his dick into my mouth and brought him to climax, and he trusted me after that. Why are you looking at me like that? It's not your business, is it?"  
Vincent took a deep breath. "No. My apologies. It wasn't my place."

Tara blinked a few times, and when she spoke again, her voice was trembling the slightest bit despite her attempt at letting her question sound humorous. "What? Are you jealous?"  
Vincent stared at her and gritted his teeth so hard it was almost audible. Telling the truth would create a terribly uncomfortable and awkward atmosphere between them and would probably lose him any respect she had left for him, yet lying to her was out of question. "Yes."

Tara swallowed heavily and her eyes widened as she stared at him with parted lips. For several agonizing moments, none of them spoke. Then she took a deep breath, not taking her eyes of his, and placed her hand against his chest.

Vincent looked at the hand and, slowly, back at her face. "I'm surprised you would willingly touch me like this, knowing who I truly am."  
"And who is it you are?" Tara took a small step forward without removing her hand. "You are not who I thought you to be."  
It took Vincent a while to answer. "Maybe not."  
"You chose your name to be Vincent. I'm sure with good reason."  
"I want to put my Legion past behind me, as far as that is possible."  
"Then you have to let it go, and don't cling to what you are meaning to let go."  
"I am not so sure myself how to achieve this", Vincent said in a low voice.  
A hesitating smile played around Tara's lips. "Do you want to know my thoughts on this?"  
"Yes."

She came a little closer yet, her hand still resting against his chest, and her voice was hardly more than a husky whisper. "I believe that the man called Vulpes Inculta died at Hoover Dam. And you... you are the man who arose from his ashes. Crawled out of his grave, with the scars to prove it. You have been brutally punished for your past deeds, deeds that you committed because in the world of the man who died at Hoover Dam, they were the right and proper things to do. But you have been offered a rare gift: another chance. You only have to take it... Vincent."  
"Is it truly that easy to become someone else?"  
"Should I know? I don't know anything of the woman Benny put into a shallow grave, yet I carry her scars. I don't know how life has been for you after your memories returned. But what I know is that the man who came back to me today is not the same as the one who left me."

With their eyes locked, they both leaned a little towards each other, their faces only inches apart. Her lips slightly parted Tara stared up at his face, and Vincent looked down at her, disbelief mingling with uncertainty in the glowing look of his remaining eye. Tara closed her eyes and moments later could feel his breath on her lips, when behind them, the elevator announced a new arrival with a shrill 'ding', making both of them jump away from each other.

They simultaneously spun around towards the elevator to see Benny, his face pale and his eyes wide. "Oh Pardon me, did I interrupt something?" He looked at Tara, a bitter twist around his mouth. "I knew it, baby doll, or I should have known. You were just playing for time, weren't you? What was that plan of yours?"

"There was no plan", Tara gave back after rallying herself. "Every word spoken today was the truth, except the ones about that nasty rumour. That was only half true, but I guess you knew that."  
"And how do you know that recording wasn't a fake?"  
"Why should it be?"  
"So you really trust that man despite what he did to you?"  
"Yes."

Benny narrowed his eyes. "And what are you going to do now? Where does that leave us?"  
"Benny, there is no 'us'. There was never an 'us'. And there never will be. There wouldn't ever have been, because honestly? I'd have killed you in the wedding night if I had had to so you wouldn't get your hands on me."  
"Brave, harsh words, darling. So what are you going to do with me now?"  
"You know, I haven't even thought about it. But now that I do..." She straightened up. "I guess I will tell everyone that you attempted to rape me. I will need no more than a bruised cheek and maybe a few marks on my wrists to prove it. Vincent happened to be unable to sleep too, and by sheer luck, managed to prevent anything worse happening to me. After all... we never found that middle man who hired those thugs, did we?"  
Benny emitted a short, harsh laugh. "And who's going to believe that little fantasy, baby doll?"  
"Who is going to contradict me?"  
"Well. I am."  
"No, you won't."

Benny had the presence of mind to turn around and make for the elevator at that moment, realising what she was up to. It was too late, however.

Tara's voice was bar of all emotion. "Kill him."

In one swift, smooth motion Vincent threw a knife that Tara hadn't even seen him draw, hitting Benny neatly between the ribs just as his hand was about to touch the button. With no more sound than a small, suffocated gasp Benny slowly collapsed, slid down the wall, and landed in a crumpled heap on the carpet, his eyes widening in despair as his fingers grappled for a hold.

With three fast strides Vincent was at his side and hauled him upright, dragged him a few steps back towards the window and dropped him onto his face, making it look as if the knife had come from the direction of the elevator doors. He slowly turned around to look at Tara who just stared at Benny with a dark look. Her voice was still dead and cold, but the tiniest of smiles tugged at her lips. "Ring-a-ding-ding, you filthy snake." With deep satisfaction she watched his body finally stop twitching.

"What next?" Vincent slowly walked up to her.  
"Next?" Tara looked up at him. "I'm afraid you will have to give me that bruised cheek I need. Guess there's no help for that."  
Vincent nodded slowly and took a breath. "Then close your eyes, please. I would not have you look at me while I do you harm."

Tara closed her eyes, and the same moment his hand met her face in a vicious back-handed slap that was hard enough to make her head spin for a second but not hard enough to make her nose bleed. She opened her eyes again and looked up into Vincent's unreadable face. He wordlessly took both her hands in his and closed his fingers around her wrists, applying pressure until Tara couldn't suppress a hiss. He let go, then slowly turned around, shoulders hunched, while Tara stared at her swelling wrists and sighed.  
"Vince."  
He turned around again.  
"This is the one moment where we both have to be ruthless. In my case, as ruthless as I've never been before." A crooked smile appeared on her face. "And now, please go get me a blanket and a coffee and have Yes Man alert the King and the Followers."

With a nod, Vincent vanished into the elevator.

Tara watched him go, and with a sudden clarity that was almost frightening remembered the moment when she had felt his breath on her lips. It was enough to get her hands sufficiently shaky to act her part when, ten minutes later, the King, two of his men, Julie and Arcade appeared in the Lounge, the latter two giving first Benny's corpse and then her bruised face and dishevelled hair a disbelieving, mortified stare.


	42. Chapter 42

After everyone had left, the Kings' men having taken Benny's corpse with them, Tara and Vincent were alone in the Lounge again. With a tired sigh, Tara got up from the couch, shedding the blanket as she did so, and put down her cup, half-full with cold coffee, before she walked over to the window where Vincent stood, silently staring at the hills. In that strange clarity of mind long after having emerged on the other side of tiredness, when it is so late it is almost early again, she noticed that she could see his jugular vein throb in his neck when she stood beside him.

"Two caps for your thoughts?"  
His turned his head a little, the tiniest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I was contemplating my current situation."  
Tara tilted her head, giving him a questioning look. "You seemed to be lost in very unpleasant thoughts, by the look of you."  
"Yes, and no." He looked out of the window again. "I am glad enough about having regained my place, but I was wondering how I could have been so short-sighted that I had to almost forfeit it to realise I wanted to keep it."  
"It's called being human."  
Vincent turned around to face her.

"It's astonishing how common it is, first realising what a thing actually meant to you after you lost it." She shrugged and looked at the distant hills herself, noticing that the stars were beginning to fade. "Why did you come back? You could have been a free man."  
"Free? What else is freedom than another word for nothing else to lose? Free to do what? Wander the wasteland alone until I died? Becoming a mercenary?" He paused for a few moments. "The Legion turned me into a perfect instrument, the tool of a ruler, a weapon. If I want my life to have any meaning, then I have to accept that I am a tool. A servant. That I need a master to make use of me."  
It took Tara a while to reply. "Making sure that their light of power doesn't fade."  
"Exactly."

Both were silent for a while before Tara spoke again.

"Have you ever wondered... no, forget it. I guess it's not fair."  
"How about you speak your mind and let me consider if I wish to reply or not?"  
Tara chuckled sadly under her breath. "Have you ever wondered what might have become of you without the Legion?"  
"Not before a few days ago, on my journey back from Shady Sands. Travelling the desert alone gives a man ample opportunity to think."  
"It must be hard for you, that transition from Legion to... well. Dissolute."  
"The hardest part is accepting that a transition is necessary in the first place."  
"Well, you managed that."  
"Indeed." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "The things I experienced on that journey were... a great help in doing so."  
"Then I was right about you."  
He turned around to face her again. Tara smiled at her reflection in the window and slowly turned around as well. "That the man who came back isn't the man who left."  
"No, I guess not."

They exchanged a long, silent glance, and Tara could feel her heart begin to beat faster. Vincent, however, was looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

"I would not want to overstep my boundaries again", he said after a while in a very low voice.  
"You could always ask, you know." Tara managed a smile. "I would never see it as a weakness if you admitted insecurity or ignorance of anything."  
"No, you wouldn't, would you." A strange smile played on his lips and he took a deep breath, leaning a little forward. "Tara."  
Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, Tara looked up at him and realised that suddenly, their faces where only inches apart. Again. "Yes?"  
"I would like to ask your permission..." He faltered, pressed his lips together, closed his eye for a second, and took a deep breath before opening it again. When he looked at her again, the glow in his eye had been replaced with something else, but nothing Tara was able to identify.  
"I... may I kiss you?"

With her heart beating so fast and furious that the blood rang in her ears Tara swallowed; and only when she noticed him frown did she realise he was still waiting for an answer. Since she didn't trust her voice she just lifted her face a little and closed her eyes. Moments later, she felt the touch of his lips on hers.

His lips were warm and dry and felt exactly like she remembered, and she realised at that moment how hungry for those kisses she had been. She closed her hands around his shoulders when his lips touched hers again and felt his arms around her, pulling her close, and into his kiss. She slung her arms around his neck and opened her lips to him, and as his hand travelled up her back to rest between her shoulder blades she pressed herself against his body, both of them breathing raggedly.  
Tara broke the kiss a moment later because she felt about to burst and buried her face in his shoulder. He in turn closed his arms around her and dug one hand into her hair.

"I missed you, Vince", Tara muttered breathlessly against the skin of his neck. "I missed you."  
"I missed you as well", Vincent muttered into her hair, stumbling a little over those unfamiliar words. "It took me some time to realise, but I did indeed miss you."  
Tara leaned back at that, finding him look at her with a strange and enticing smile. Unable to resist, Tara slung her arms around his neck again and pulled him close for another kiss. With their breathing becoming faster with every passing second they devoured each other's lips, while their hands roamed each other's bodies.

Out of breath and with her heart about to break free of her ribcage, Tara broke the kiss again and leaned back to watch Vincent's face, almost expressionless bar the deep glow of emotion in his eye. She reached out to brush his cheek with her hand and he closed his eye, leaning into her touch. Tara took a deep breath to steady her voice, with little success.

"Vincent", she whispered. "I... I know that this... things like this would normally lead down a road that... that you can no longer walk." She swallowed when he opened his eye to look at her and went on with her voice even more unsteady than before. "But I want you to know... I... I cannot remember ever having walked that road. So I shall... go that road with you as far as you can go, and I shall be happy with whatever you can give me."  
He gritted his teeth for a moment, his jaw locked so tight that Tara could see the sinews in his neck twitch. Then he tossed his head back and closed his eye before letting go of her. He turned towards the window again and his voice was trembling when he spoke.  
"Isn't this the best and fitting punishment anyone could ever conceive, for my past deeds and crimes, especially towards women? That when I finally... finally find the one woman I would only ever serve... I cannot do so anymore." And with a sudden, hoarse growl of fury and frustration he slammed both his fists against the windowpane, then let his head drop against the window as well so his forehead came to rest between his fists, breathing heavily through his nose a few times before pushing himself away. Then he straightened up and, after running a hand down his face, stared irritated at his fingertips before looking back at Tara again. "What are you doing to me?"  
As an answer, Tara pulled him close and kissed him again, a wild and desperate kiss that he returned with the same ferocity.

"Come to bed with me", Tara said in what was almost a gasp when she broke their hungry kiss again. "Please..."  
Before she could say any more, Vincent had swept her up into his arms and carried her towards the elevator. Dropping her head onto his shoulder Tara closed her eyes and listened to her racing heartbeat.

After kicking the door of her bedroom shut behind him Vincent set her down again and pulled her into another breathless, hungry kiss. When Tara tore herself away to catch her breath she found him smile at her with a softness in his eye she had never seen there before. With a shy and tentative smile of her own she reached out and ran her hand over his head, down the back of his neck and up again, taking the strap of his eye patch with her. She pulled it over his head and off his face and dropped it, and after drinking the sight of his face for a few moments, stood on tip-toe and placed a tender kiss onto the scar running through the empty eye socket.

Vincent closed his other eye as she did so and tried to deal with a maelstrom of unfamiliar, overwhelming feelings. Yet when he opened his eye again and saw her watch him with a shyness that was as alluring as it was unfamiliar in this woman, his queen, he realised that for all intents and purposes, she had never done this before. He placed his hands on her hips and sought her eyes, looking for silent confirmation for him to take the lead, but when their eyes met her smile changed and she took a deep breath that could also have been a heavy sigh.

Tara's moves were tentative and hesitating when she reached out and tugged his shirt out of his waistband. He in turn just lifted his arms and let her pull the shirt over his head, lowering his arms again as she dropped the shirt while her eyes roamed his scarred torso without any of the abhorrence or revulsion he would have expected in a woman upon seeing him in his skin. She reached out and ran a finger down one of the scars on his chest, traced one scar after the other with a single, cautious finger, her face betraying nothing. When she looked up at him again she neither smiled nor frowned, just looked at him, her eyes soft but without any pity in them.

Vincent pulled her close again, felt her arms around his torso tracing a few of the scars on his back, and only then did her face betray emotion when a deep furrow appeared between her brows.  
"You bear so many scars already", she whispered. "And here I had to go and give you more on top of everything."  
"It doesn't bother me", he gave back. A sudden thought struck him and with a smile, he lifted her chin with a gentle finger to make her look at him. "In fact... these scars you gave me... they mark me as yours."  
"You're not my slave!" Tara's eyes widened and she shook her head, but Vincent just chuckled under his breath.  
"No. But I am yours nonetheless."

Tara slung her arms around his neck in what was almost desperation, locking their mouths in a hungry, ferocious kiss while she dug her fingers into his back. Without breaking the kiss Vincent now moved his hands to her waistline to slide them under her shirt, running them up her back and around her shoulder blades, feeling only skin. With Tara's breathing becoming harder and faster he moved them down and to her front and now broke the kiss, stood back and pushed up her shirt.  
She did the same he had done, just lifted her arms so he could pull the shirt over her head and drop it, and when their eyes met again, they instantly locked their arms around each other again, skin to skin while their hands caressed each other's backs.

They broke free of each other hesitatingly after another kiss, and as Tara watched Vincent unbuckle his belt she pushed her cargoes down and kicked them off. When he stepped out of his trousers, not taking his eyes off her face, she pushed her panties down and stepped free of those as well.

It was at that moment that Vincent suddenly couldn't meet her eyes any more.

Tara noticed his discomfort but didn't say anything, just stepped closer and slung her arms around him again, pressing her skin against his, and placed a kiss on the side of his neck.  
He closed his arms around her and drew his hands down her back, cupped her buttocks and ran his hands up again to rest them on her hips before gently pushing her away again. Their eyes met again and with a deep breath, Vincent lowered his head, stood back and slowly, somewhat hesitatingly, shed the last piece of his clothing.

When he straightened up again Tara was looking at his face alone, and she rested her hands on his pectorals without taking her eyes of his.  
"I won't have you feel ashamed", she said in a low, but firm voice.  
A tiny smile tugged at Vincent's lips. "I am not ashamed. I just hate to be confronted with it, and I hate confronting other people with the sight a good deal more, especially... especially a woman."  
Tara nodded in understanding, but after a moment of silence, Vincent took a small step back and nodded.

She let her eyes wander down, following the fine line of hairs on his chest that ran down past his navel where it vanished into the darker triangle of curls below it. What she saw didn't bother her as much as she had expected it would, but she could well understand why it would bother him to show it to her, the lopsided scrotum with the one missing testicle, and the penis, adorned with two pinkish, puckered scars on either side, running from root down to the glans where the foreskin was completely gone.

Tara slowly extended one forefinger to touch one of those scars, only briefly, and when she looked up at his face again, she found it locked into his familiar, unreadable mask of complete indifference. She cleared her throat and swallowed, but her voice was still a little hoarse when she spoke.

"I swear, if I ever lay my hands on the men who did this to you, I shall kill them. Slowly."  
A small, almost unwilling smile appeared on his face and shaking his head, lifted a hand to run it down her cheek. "My fierce and beautiful woman." He took a deep breath. "You have no idea how much that means to me. But they are dead already."  
"You found them?"  
He nodded.  
"And you killed them?"  
"One of them had already killed himself. The other two however died at my hands."  
Tara thrust her chin out and gritted her teeth. "Good."

They looked at each other for a long, silent moment before they simultaneously stepped forward, into each other's embrace, and while their lips met in a passionate, almost wild and greedy kiss their hands dug into each other's flesh, their breathing growing ragged and fast again.

Vincent broke the kiss again and gently pushed her onto the bed, sat down beside her and pulled her down with him as he lay down. Their limbs entwining, they kissed again, hands roaming over each other's skin, and when Vincent moved his lips down Tara's throat and collarbone she closed her eyes with a heavy sigh.  
His lips wandered down, and shifting his position, he closed one hand around her breast while his lips found the other, making Tara tense and arch her back into his touch with a deep and husky moan.

The sounds she emitted when he caressed her, so different from those he had heard during that night in Olancha, reminded him again of the fact that neither her mind nor her body could remember ever having touched by a man before. Everything he did was new to her, and everything he could not do was nothing she would miss with not knowing it. It was more comforting to him than he would have ever imagined it could be. Whatever he lacked, he still could serve her, and he would serve her well.

His hands roamed and caressed her body, and his lips did the same, placing soft kisses on her skin until she was panting and moaning his name.  
He lay beside her, half on top of her, and while he lowered his face to her neck to place a gentle love bite into the curve where her neck and shoulder met, his fingers strayed down her thigh, and up again on the inside where he caressed her curls, making her squirm a little more, before he ventured forth and slid his fingers into that moist and silky warmth between her legs.

Tara's eyes widened and she gasped, her fingers digging slowly into the bed sheet beneath. He languorously stroked back and forth, up and down, and when he finally met with the little pearl that was the centre of her lust, his touch elicited sounds from Tara that were as delightful as they were unexpected. She gasped when he removed his fingers again, her breathing hard and fast when he cautiously moved them towards her entrance and slowly, slid his fingers across. She stiffened, a high-pitched gasp forcing itself out between her lips, and with a slow move of his hand, Vincent pushed his finger inside her... and froze.

Tara, too, froze in mid-gasp upon noticing this, and as she lifted her head to stare at him she found him look at her with his eye wide and his face a little pale.  
His voice was only a hoarse, cracked whisper. "Tara... there is a reason why you cannot remember the touch of a man." He licked his lips, and when he continued, his voice was trembling ever so slightly. "You have never felt the touch of a man before. You are a virgin, Tara."  
It took a few seconds for these words to reach Tara's mind. "It's impossible..."  
Vincent rallied himself with a deep breath and cautiously pulled his finger out but before Tara could say or do anything. They exchanged a long, silent look, staring at each other with parted lips and wide eyes before Tara spoke again. "I don't know if this is any consolation to you but..." She took a deep breath. "What you can't have, no one else had before you. And no one ever will."  
He needed a moment to reply. "It is. A greater consolation than you can imagine."  
"Then I shall give my virginity to you. It's yours, for what my words are worth to you."  
Vincent closed his eye and fought emotions he had never known before. His voice was trembling when he spoke, and he couldn't open his eye as he did so. "It is the greatest gift I have ever received." With these words he kissed her again, and Tara slung her arms around his neck and pulled him close as if she never wanted to let go again.

Without breaking that kiss Vincent shifted his position and moved his finger up again between her silky folds, and within moments, Tara's head dropped back onto the pillow again and her eyelids fluttered shut. She gasped and whispered his name and when Vincent lowered his head to close his lips around her nipple again she rested one hand on the back of his head, digging her fingers into his hair. Vincent continued with his gentle and tender administrations until Tara was loudly moaning his name like a chant. Moments later her body surrendered to the tension and she screamed wordlessly when her climax hit her, her back arched, her head thrown back and her nails digging blood-red crescents into the back of Vincent's neck.

She collapsed, limp as a wet rag, and with a pleased smile Vincent gathered her up in his arms, pressed her close to him and listened to her slowly calming breathing with a warm glow of satisfaction spreading inside him. And with that he realised that he could be content like this. That he was content. That while his mind still fought with frustration and anger over the things lost to him, his body had long come to accept and arrange itself with the lack of physical relief. Precisely at that moment Tara opened her eyes again and looked up at his face, a soft and somewhat sad smile on her face as she lifted a hand to touch his cheek. "I wish I could do the same for you."  
He shook his head, still smiling. "I lack nothing", he said, and it was nothing but the truth. "Your satisfaction is my satisfaction." He kissed her again, passionate yet gentle, and when he settled himself onto his back, she curled up at his side, one arm draped across his chest and her head resting on his shoulder after he had covered them with a blanket.

Vincent closed his arms around her and stared at the ceiling, letting his memories take him back to Hoover Dam. Rightfully, he should have died that day, but thinking about Tara's words earlier, he thought that she had maybe been right, and he had. He certainly didn't feel like the man he had been before any more. If it was fate or sheer chance that had saved him was nothing he could decide, but he knew that for some reason, he had been given a second chance. He might have been at the raw end of the deal, being forced to live emasculated and crippled as he was, but he knew without doubt that given his past, he could be glad he had been offered a deal at all.

Beside him Tara sighed deeply, and he realised that she had fallen asleep in his arms. He turned his head a little to look at the head resting on the bare skin of his right shoulder, her face so soft and relaxed in her sleep, and watching her, he realised something else: In this woman he had been given an invaluable gift, an incredibly precious and fragile gift that was now his to take care of. And without having been purged before, he would not have been worthy of it. Had he still been the man who died at Hoover Dam, to greater or lesser extent, he would have spoiled that gift upon receiving it. As it was, he could hold it, treasure it, and protect it. And it was his. His alone. Worth paying every price, worth every pain he had gone through.

He felt his heart begin to race and Tara, probably picking up on the sound of his heartbeat, moved and sleepily lifted her head a little. "What...?"

Vincent gently tucked her head back down with his hand and brushed a few hairs from her face. "Nothing. Just sleep. I shall guard your dreams." She closed her eyes with a sigh and was asleep again within moments, and Vincent closed his eye and rested his cheek on the top of her head. "Everything is as it should be."

**The End**

* * *

http:/channet(.)deviantart(.)com/art/Everything-is-as-it-should-be-281095963**  
**


	43. Chapter 43

**Epilogue**

**Freeside, June 25, 2282**

On a sunny morning in Freeside, Tara was just about to enter the Fort when a farm boy came running through the open gate, completely out of breath.

"Courier! Courier! There's a caravan coming", he gasped. "But it's not brahmins, it's..." He doubled over with a wheeze.  
"Easy now", Tara said. "Get your breath back."  
"They've only got one head, I swear", the boy stammered. "And these long ears, and the man who's leading them wears a huge funny hat!"  
"Huge funny hat?" Tara exchanged a befuddled look with Vincent. They followed the agitated boy through the gates to Outer Vegas and positioned themselves on the city wall, looking south. They could see the caravan, one headed animals laden with crates and bundles, smaller than a brahmin and leaner, with long necks and even longer ears. And the man leading them wore an unusual hat. The moment Tara saw it, however, she realised she had seen one of those before. Her heart skipped a beat and began to race.

Without further ado she jumped down from the wall and ran to meet the caravan, and muttering a curse under his breath, Vincent struggled to keep up with her.

The leader of the caravan had seen them and called for a halt, and when Tara recognised him as he jogged forward, she emitted a shriek of joy.  
"Raul! RAUL!"  
The old ghoul broke out into a hoarse, rasping laugh upon recognising her and was almost toppled over when Tara threw herself bodily into his arms.  
"Yeah, I'm happy to see you, too, boss."  
Tara wiped her eyes and couldn't stop grinning like an idiot. "Oh god, Raul... I thought I'd never see you again."  
Raul chuckled and shook his head. "There's no getting rid of this old sack of creaking bones, boss."  
"Where have you been?"  
"Mexico City. And we brought you a present."  
"A present?"

Raul grinned and turned around to emit a shrieking whistle. He waved, and one of the caravan drivers came forward, leading one of those strange, one-headed creatures.

"What are those... beasts?"  
"Donkeys, boss. Made it through the war and everything pretty much unchanged. They're just that stubborn." With these words he unstrung a small, metal crate from the donkey's back, a crate that was sealed heavily with strings and duct tape. Raul winked at Tara, set the crate down and, after unsheathing one of his knifes, sliced through the seals. Tara craned her neck as he lifted the lid. It was filled with...  
For the second time in almost as many minutes, Tara emitted a shriek of joy. "Is that...?"  
Raul grinned. "Yeah. Coffee beans, boss."  
Tara embraced Raul again before going down into a crouch beside the crate.

"Hope they don't disappoint, boss. We've been on the road for three months now, and those babies had already been travelling a couple of weeks until they came to Mexico City. They might be a bit stale."  
"It doesn't matter!" Tara dusted off her skirt and Raul and the caravan followed her towards the city gates. "Somewhat stale coffee is still better than no coffee at all."

By the time the caravan had reached the plaza in Freeside, a large crowd was following them, curious and excited as the caravan drivers began to unload their donkeys.

For the first time ever abusing the privileges of her rank, Tara picked one of the crates with coffee and left Freeside, making her way back to the Lucky38 and her long-neglected coffee maker in greedy haste.

On their way they saw a gaggle of screaming, laughing boys kicking a rag-ball without giving them any notice. As they had passed them, however, Vincent was suddenly hit in the small of the back. He spun around to find the ball lying at his feet, and lifting his face, saw the group of boys frozen to the spot, staring at him in mute, frightened abashment. He took a deep breath and tilted his head, making the boys cringe with lifting his right foot and resting the tip of it on the ball. With an unmoving face, he then gave the ball a strong kick, making it fly across the road right into the group of boys who unfroze, picked up the ball, and vanished between the houses within seconds.

Tara gave Vincent a curious look that he returned with his usual, calm mask of absolute indifference. Suppressing a snicker Tara set off again, taking her treasures home.


End file.
